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MAX  PEMBERTON 


"NOTICE  TO  PURCHASER" 

"  This  copyright  volume  is  offered  for  sale  to  the  public  only 
through  the  authorized  agents  of  the  publishers,  who  are  permitted  to 
sell  it  only  at  retail  and  at  fifty  cents  per  copy,  and  with  the  express 
condition  and  reservation  that  it  shall  not,  prior  to  August  1st,  1907,  be 
resold,  or  offered  or  advertised  for  resale.  The  purchaser  from  them 
agrees  to  this  condition  and  reservation  by  the  acceptance  of  this  copy. 
In  case  of  any  breach  thereof,  the  title  to  this  book  immediately  reverts 
to  the  publishers.  Any  defacement,  alteration  or  removal  of  this  notice 
will  be  prosecuted  by  the  publishers  to  the  full  extent  of  the  law.  " 

THE  AUTHORS  AND  NEWSPAPERS  ASSOCIATION 


• 


"  She  was  aware  instantly  that   the   strangers   were   speaking  of 
her."     Chap.   6. 


The  Lady  Evelyn 

A  Story  of  To-day 


By 

MAX   PEMBERTON 

Author  of 

"The  Hundred  Days,"  "  Doctor  Xavier,' 

"A  Gentleman1  s  Gentleman" 

"A  Puritan's  Wife," 

Etc. 


Illustrated  in  Water-Colors  by  ARTHUR  WILLIAM  BROWN 


POWERS'  SPECIAL   EDITION, 

MINNEAPOLIS,  MINN. 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

THE  AUTHORS  AND   NEWSPAPERS  ASSOCIATION 

1906 


Copyright  igo6  by  Max  Pembcrton 
Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall 


rights  reser-ved 


Composition  and  Electrotyping  by 

J.  J.  Little  &  Co. 

Printed  and  bound  by  the 

Manhattan  Press,  New  York. 


CONTENTS 


BOOK   I.— THE   ESCAPADE. 

THE  FACE  IN  THE  RIVER 

A  TELEGRAM  TO  BUKHAREST  - 

n.    ETTA  ROMNET  is  PRESENTED  - 

III.  SUCCESS  AND  AFTERWARDS  — 

IV.  Two  PERSONALITIES          -  - 

V.  THE  LETTER    -        -        -        -        - 

VI.  STRANGERS  IN  THE  HOUSE        - 

VII.  THE  NONAGENARIAN 

VIII.  LADY  EVELYN  RETURNS   -        -        - 

IX.  THE  THIRD  EARL  OF  MELBOURNE 

X.  THE  ACCIDENT  UPON  THE  ROAD 

XI.  A  RACE  FOR  LIFE   -       —       -       - 

XII.  THE  UNSPOKEN  ACCUSATION     - 

XIII.  THE  INTERVIEW        -        -        - 

XIV.  INHERITANCE   -        -        -        -        - 
XV.  THE  PRICE  OF  SALVATION 

XVI.    A  GAME  OF  GOLF    -       -       - 


5 

19 

24 

31 

45 

53 

60 

68 

76 

85 

95 

100 

108 

118 

126 

134 

146 


BOOK   II.— THE   ENGLISHMAN. 

XVII.  GAVIN  ORD  BEGINS  His  WORK  -  155 

XVIII.  A  DUEL  OVER  THE  TEACUPS     -       -        -       -  164 

XLX.  FROM  THE  BELFRY  TOWER        -        -        -       -  174 

XX.  LOVERS   ----  _        _       _  134 

XXI.  ZALLONY'S  SON         ------  193 

XXII.  A  SPY  FROM  BUCHAREST  -----  202 


2137827 


CONTENTS 


BOOK   III.— THE  LIGHT. 

CHAPTER 

XXIII.  BuxHAREST      -       -        -       - 

XXIV.  THE  PRICE  OP  WISDOM    - 
XXV.  THE  HOUSE  ABOVE  THE  TORRENT 

XXVI.  THROUGH  A  WOMAN'S  HEART    - 

XXVII.  ETTA  ROMNEY'S  RETURN-        - 

XXVIII.  THE  IMPRESARIO'S  PRAYER        - 

XXIX.  THE  PRISONERS  AT  SBTCHEVO  - 

XXX.  THERE  is  No  NEWS  OF  GAVIN  ORD 

XXXI.  THE  HOUSE  AT  HAMPSTEAD      - 

XXXII.  A  SHOT  IN  THE  HILLS      -       - 

XXXIII.  DJALA      ----- 

XXXIV.  THE  SHADOW  OP  THE  RIVER     - 
Epilogue.  THE  DOCTOR  DRINKS  A  TOAST 


PAGE 

212 
218 

227 
236 
244 
251 
260 
289 
274 
287 
295 
306 
315 


PAGE 

"She  was  aware  instantly  that  the  strangers  were  speaking 

of  her  --------        Frontispiece 

"  Oh,  please  let  me  go;  your  hands  hurt  me  "-        -        -        -    145 

"  As  you  came  in  folly,  so  shall  you  go "-        -        -        —    243 

"Evelyn,  beloved,  I  am  here  as  you  wish"     -        -        -        -    314 


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THE   LADY    EVELYN 

PROLOGUE 

THE   FACE   IN   THE   RIVER 

THE  porter  did  not  know;  the  station-master 
was  not  sure;  but  both  were  agreed  that  it  was 
a  "  good  step  to  the  'all  "— by  which  they  signi- 
fied the  Derbyshire  mansion  of  the  third  Earl  of 
Melbourne. 

"  Might  be  you'd  get  a  cab,  might  be  you 
wouldn't,"  said  the  porter  somewhat  loftily— for 
here  was*  a  passenger  who  had  spoken  of  walking 
over :  * '  that  '11  depend  on  Jacob  Price  and  the  beer 
he's  drunk  this  night.  Some  nights  he  can  drive 
a  man  and  some  nights  he  can't.  I'm  not  here 
to  speak  for  him  more  than  any  other.." 

The  station-master,  who  had  been  giving  the 
whole  weight  of  his  intelligence  to  a  brown  paper 
parcel  with  no  address  upon  it,  here  chimed  in  to 
ask  a  question  in  that  patronizing  manner  pecul- 
iar to  station-masters. 

"  Did  his  lordship  expect  you,  sir  ?"  he  asked 
with  some  emphasis;  as  though,  had  it  been  the 
case,  he  certainly  should  have  been  informed  of 
it.  The  reply  found  him  all  civility. 

' '  I  should  have  been  here  by  the  train  arriving 


6  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

at  half -past  six,"  said  Gavin  Ord,  the  passenger  in 
question — "  it  is  my  fault,  certainly.  No  doubt, 
they  sent  to  meet  me " 

* '  The  brown  shay  and  a  pair  of  'osses  stood  in 
the  yard  more'n  an  hour,"  exclaimed  the  porter 
with  just  reproach.  "  I'll  tell  Mr.  Jacob.  He 
knows  his  betters  when  he  sees  him,  drunk  or 
sober " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Gavin  quietly,  "  but  I  will 
not  put  his  knowledge  to  the  proof.  After  all,  it's 
only  five  miles,  you  say " 

"  And  a  public-house  at  Moretown  if  the  dust 
sticks  in  you»r  throat.  You'll  do  better  walking 
than  up  alongside  old  Jacob  at  this  time  of  night, 
sir " 

"  Had  we  known  that  his  lordship  expected  a 
guest,  we'd  have  answered  for  a  carriage,"  added 
the  station-master,  still  apologetically. 

The  tall,  fair-haired  Englishman  perplexed 
him.  He  hardly  knew  whether  he  addressed  a 
Duke  or  a  commoner.  The  voice  and  manner 
suggested  the  former ;  the  intention  to  walk  spoke 
of  a  vulgar  habit  rather  befitting  his  lordship's 
curate  than  the  honored  guest  of  Melbourne  Hall. 
Gavin  Ord,  upon  his  part,  perhaps,  delighted  in 
perplexing  people.  He  quite  understood  the  kind 
of  curiosity  he  had  aroused;  and,  refusing  to 
gratify  it,  he  snatched  up  a  light  dressing  bag; 
and  leaving  directions  for  his  heavier  luggage  to 
be  forwarded  in  the  morning,  he  set  off  briskly 
upon  the  high  road  to  Moretown,  beyond  which, 
as  all  the  world  knows,  lies  the  Manor  of  Mel- 
bourne. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  7 

"  Going  to  make  a  long  stay,  sir?  "  had  been  the 
amiable  station-master's  last  shot. 

* '  Oh,  I  may  settle  down  there  for  a  long  time, ' ' 
said  Ord  in  reply;  and  this  news  was  all  over  the 
village  in  an  hour. 

Strangers  upon  the  road  to  Melbourne  Hall 
were  not  so  many  that  one  should  escape  remark. 

"  If  he's  for  the  Lady  Evelyn,"  the  blithe  por- 
ter confessed  over  his  cups  at  a  later  hour,  ' '  she 
might  go  farther  and  get  a  worse-looking  man. 
Gave  me  a  shillin',  he  did,  and  carried  his  bag 
hisself.  That's  what  I  call  a  gentleman,  now." 

Unconscious  of  this  tribute  to  his  qualities, 
Gavin  Ord  was  then  more  than  three  miles  upon 
his  road  to  Melbourne  Hall.  A  hot  day  of  Au- 
gust had  given  place  to  a  delicious  night,  fresh 
and  cool  and  redolent  of  sweet  perfumes.  The 
moon  stood  high  above  the  horizon,  shining  with 
glorious  mellow  light  upon  the  gathered  sheaves 
and  the  grattan  where  the  wheat  was  garnered. 
So  plain  were  the  hill-tops  to  be  seen  that  the 
very  flocks  could  almost  be  numbered  upon 
them;  while  the  bare  walls  of  limestone,  the  tors 
of  spar,  and  the  higher  mounts  were  veined  as 
by  rifts  of  jewels,  giving  back  in  glittering 
flashes  the  moonbeams  they  had  husbanded.  The 
roads  themselves  were  eloquent  by  night.  When 
a  farmer's  cart  went  rumbling  by,  Gavin  could 
hear  the  echo  of  the  horse's  hoofs  and  the  rolling 
sound  of  wheels  for  quite  a  long  time. 

He  was  a  man  of  redoubtable  physique,  trained 
by  laborious  days  at  home  and  abroad  to  the 
finer  qualities  of  his  endurance ;  and  nothing  was 


8  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

more  to  his  liking  than  this  lonely  pilgrimage  to 
a  splendid  house  wherein  he  believed  that  an  ad- 
vantageous welcome  awaited  him.  A  stranger  to 
Lord  Melbourne,  he  never  allowed  himself  to  for- 
get that  his  own  talents  and  achievements  had 
made  this  visit  possible  and  opened  to  him  the 
doors  of  a  house  which  few  even  of  the  aristocracy 
now  entered.  For  Gavin  Ord  was  callen  in  London 
the  first  among  the  younger  school  of  architects— 
an  artist  of  prodigious  originality  and  daring,  and 
one  with  as  many  sides  to  his  talent  as  a  diamond 
has  facets.  Already  had  Burlington  House 
heaped  her  honors  upon  him.  The  great  Church 
at  Kensington  would,  he  believed,  stand  as  his  me- 
morial to  all  time.  But  for  a  prodigality  and  a 
refusal  to  consider  a  mere  matter  of  money,  his 
plans  for  a  new  cathedral  in  the  North  would 
certainly  have  been  accepted  by  the  committee. 
As  it  was,  critics  said,  "  There  is  the  man  of  to- 
morrow." He  liked  to  hear  them  say  it,  for  he 
had  a  great  conceit  in  his  art  if  none  for  himself. 
Something  of  the  spirit  of  the  old-time  builders 
moved  within  him.  His  imagination  dwelt  in 
lofty  temples,  roamed  in  vast  aisles — looked  down 
upon  men  from  a  masterpiece  of  spires.  He  was 
but  a  servant,  if  only  the  stone  which  dominated 
men's  hearts. 

And  now  this  famous  old  recluse,  this  eccentric 
unknown  Earl  of  Melbourne,  had  summoned  him 
to  save  the  stately  Melbourne  Hall  from  its  only 
enemy — time.  He  could  not  have  found  a  more 
congenial  task  upon  all  the  continents. 

There  can  be  no  journey  more  pleasant  than 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  9 

that  which  carries  us  a  stage  upon  the  road  to 
our  ambitions.  Every  event  of  the  wayside  is 
then  an  adventure  to  us;  every  inn  at  which  we 
rest  seems  to  offer  us  ambrosia.  Here  was  Gavin 
Ord,  at  ten  o'clock  of  the  night,  as  good  a  walker 
upon  the  road  to  Melbourne  Hall  as  any  trained 
athlete  out  with  the  lark  for  a  morning  breather. 
Five  or  ten  miles  to  go,  it  mattered  nothing  to 
him.  He  had  forgotten  already  the  five  hours  in 
a  stuffy  train ;  his  mind  was  set  upon  the  beauties 
of  the  moonlit  landscape,  the  fine  wooded  slopes 
of  the  hills,  the  twinkling  lights  in  the  hollows, 
the  dark  towers  of  the  scattered  churches — more 
than  all,  upon  the  distant  goal  and  the  reception 
which  would  await  him  there. 

How  earnestly  had  the  old  Earl  implored  him 
to  go  to  the  Manor ! 

"  Here  is  the  finest  Tudor  house  in  England," 
he  had  written ;  ' '  you  can  save  it.  Make  it  your 
home  and  learn  to  love  it  as  I  do.  They  tell  me 
that  in  your  leisure  you  ride  and  shoot.  I  will 
introduce  you  to  the  finest  fencer  in  Derbyshire, 
and  you  shall  tell  me  what  you  think  of  the  pheas- 
ants. Don't  expect  to  find  a  house-party.  I  see 
few  people.  I  desire  to  see  fewer.  My  daughter 
will  play  tennis  with  you,  and,  if  you  are  a  golfer, 
there  are  lean  long  women  on  the  hills  who  talk 
of  nothing  else  but  hazards  and  whins.  These 
preach  sermons  in  stones.  Come  and  hear 
them,  and  my  motor  shall  show  you  Derbyshire. 
But,  above  all,  become  the  servant  of  the  Manor, 
as  every  true  artist  must  be. ' ' 

The  letter  of  a  man,  Gavin  said  to  himself  when 


10  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

he  read  it.  He  liked  it  best  because  there  was  no 
gilt-edge  of  money  upon  it.  The  Earl's  pro- 
digious wealth  had  been  the  one  blot  hitherto 
upon  the  fair  panorama  of  his  desires.  "  There 
will  be  a  host  of  flunkies  in  red  breeches,"  he 
had  thought,  "  and  every  one  of  them  will  look 
the  question,  '  How  much  is  he  good  for?  '  He 
knew  that  the  present  Master  of  Melbourne  Hall 
had  come  to  the  estate  and  the  title  almost  by 
accident  late  in  life,  and  after  an  adventurous 
career  which  men  spoke  of  openly  in  clubs,  but 
rarely  in  private  life.  A  wild  man  who  had  been 
everything  from  a  discredited  attache  at  Bukha- 
rest  to  an  equally  unsuccessful  miner  in  Australia 
— this  was  the  third  Earl  of  Melbourne. 

And  what  of  his  daughter,  the  Lady  Evelyn? 

There  were  but  wild  fables  spoken  about  this 
unknown  girl  and  the  secluded  life  her  father 
compelled  her  to  live  at  the  Manor  House.  Some 
said  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  Eoumanian  gypsy 
whom  the  Earl  had  married  after  his  disgrace  at 
Bukharest.  Others  declared  that  her  dead  mother 
had  been  an  actress  who  had  enjoyed  a  brief  spell 
of  notoriety  in  Vienna  and  thence  had  been  driven 
out  by  the  infatuation  of  an  archduke.  None 
knew  the  truth,  but  there  were  many  to  suggest 
what  the  truth  might  be.  Openly  and  scandal- 
ously, as  the  world  will,  idle  tongues  hinted  that 
the  Earl  must  have  some  good  reason  for  his 
eccentric  conduct.  There  were  even  stories  that 
the  Lady  Evelyn  was  unmistakably  a  gypsy  girl 
herself.  "  As  brown  as  a  walnut  chiffonier," 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  11 

said  little  Backbiter  at  the  Club.  The  fellow  had 
never  been  within  fifty  miles  of  Melbourne  Hall; 
and  if  he  had  met  the  Earl,  he  would  have  gone 
down  on  his  marrow  bones  to  him. 

Gavin  Ord  recalled  some  of  these  stories  as  he 
followed  the  tortuous  road  and  left  the  solitary 
village  still  farther  behind  him.  They  did  not 
interest  him.  He  had  gone  into  Derbyshire  to  see 
not  a  woman  but  a  house.  Delight  that  he  should 
be  chosen  for  guardian  of  such  a  national  treasure 
as  Melbourne  Hall  went  with  him  upon  his  way. 
He  must  be  now,  he  thought,  but  a  mile  from  the 
Manor  gates.  The  road  had  become  narrow  and 
closely  bordered  by  leafy  elms.  No  longer  could 
he  see  the  moonlit  heights  or  the  twinkling  lights 
in  the  valleys.  There  were  no  kindly  beams  to 
guide  his  steps.  In  weird  darkness  he  followed 
the  dusty  track  and  pressed  on  toward  the  Manor. 
The  rustling  of  leaves  sounded  almost  like  a 
human  voice  in  his  ears.  He  liked  to  think  that 
Nature  was  still  awake  and  speaking  to  him. 

So  it  is  evident  that  he  possessed  that  quasi- 
divine  attribute,  imagination.  His  mood  of 
thought  responded  instantly  to  any  change,  at- 
mospheric, or  of  the  light  of  the  heavens.  The 
sunshine  could  ever  build  temples  of  success  for 
him;  the  twilight  rarely  failed  to  bring  the  ques- 
tion, what  is  the  good  of  it  all,  of  ambition  and  the 
stress  and  strife  of  arenas.  In  the  night  he  would 
awake  to  remember  that  all  men  must  die.  In 
the  daytiine  he  would  laugh  at  death  and  all  the 
vain  problems  of  the  hereafter.  That  Melbourne 
Hall,  approached  in  this  gloom  of  a  summer's 


12 

night,  should  provoke  no  evil  thoughts  but  only 
those  of  good  omen,  seemed  a  new  witness  to  the 
pleasure  with  which  he  contemplated  his  stay 
there.  He  would  accomplish  something  amid 
those  ancient  stones  by  which  men  should  remem- 
ber him.  The  aspiration  quickened  his  step.  A 
turn  of  the  road  revealed  the  lodge-gates,  with  a 
lighted  window  and  a  pleasant  cottage.  He  en- 
tered Lord  Melbourne's  park  and  discerned  the 
Hall,  dim  and  stately  and  starred  with  lights, 
across  the  little  river  which  stood  for  a  moat  be- 
fore its  walls. 

This,  then,  was  his  goal,  this  superb  fabric 
which  the  genius  of  the  mediaeval  age  had  be- 
queathed to  England  and  to  posterity.  No  words 
could  rightly  have  described  the  emotions  which 
stirred  his  imagination  as  he  stood  to  contemplate 
the  jagged  line  of  building  and  battlement,  chapel, 
tower  and  stable,  which  his  hand  should  snatch 
from  the  greedy  hand  of  time.  The  very  park, 
with  its  soft  grasses,  and  deer  in  shadow  pictures 
beneath  the  trees,  could  conjure  up  a  vision  of 
knights  and  pages  and  stately  dames  and  all  the 
witching  pageantry  of  half -forgotten  centuries. 
The  great  house  itself  might  have  been  the  house 
of  a  thousand  mysteries,  locked  in  banded  coffers, 
enshrined  in  ghostly  walls — crying  aloud  none  the 
less  to  him  who  would  listen  to  the  tongue  of  their 
romance.  Gavin  Ord  stood  in  an  ecstasy  of  hom- 
age to  worship  at  the  gates  of  such  a  temple  as 
this.  And,  standing  so,  he  heard  a  woman's  cry. 

He  had  walked  across  the  park  with  slow  steps 
and  come  to  the  narrow  bridge  of  five  Koman 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  13 

arches  which  spanned  the  shallow  river — shallow, 
save  for  one  deep  pool  over  which  many  a  fisher- 
man must  have  thrown  a  skilful  fly.  Standing  by 
the  balustrade  to  contemplate  the  picture,  his  de- 
lighted eyes  traced  every  tower  and  pinnacle  of 
Melbourne  Hall  with  an  artist's  ecstasy — thence 
looked  out  over  the  moonlit  park  to  glades  of  sur- 
passing beauty  and  scenes  which  the  centuries  had 
hallowed.  How  inimitable  it  all  was — the  mighty 
yews  about  which  Elizabeth's  courtiers  had 
grouped;  the  groves  which  had  listened  to  many 
a  child  of  Pampinea — the  fearsome  walls,  what 
tragedies,  what  comedies,  had  been  played  within 
them!  Even  a  dullard  might  contemplate  the 
scene  with  awe.  Gavin  Ord  was  no  dullard,  and 
the  spell  it  cast  upon  him  was  such  as  he  had 
never  known  in  all  his  life.  So  entirely  did  it 
claim  his  mind  and  will  that  when  he  heard  a 
woman's  low  cry  beneath  the  very  bridge  he  stood 
upon,  he  scarcely  turned  his  head  or  gave  the 
matter  a  thought. 

What  had  happened;  whence  came  the  sound f 
Being  repeated,  he  could  no  longer  ignore  it.  In 
truth,  it  awed  him  not  a  little ;  for  it  was  not  the 
voice  of  a  woman  in  danger  but  of  one  asking  his 
pity,  his  help,  as  it  seemed,  in  a  low  whispering 
voice  which  he  now  heard  more  clearly  than  if 
a  strong  man  had  shouted  at  him.  Taking  one 
quick  glance  at  the  river,  Gavin  declared  that  the 
cry  could  not  have  come  from  there.  Splashing 
and  leaping  over  mossy  boulders,  a  child  might 
have  waded  across  the  stream,  he  thought.  Then 
whence  did  the  cry  come?  Turning  about,  to  the 


14  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

right,  to  the  left,  he  discovered  himself  to  be  still 
alone.  It  was  the  voice  of  imagination  he  began 
to  say;  and  was  about  to  quit  the  place  when  he 
heard  it  for  the  third  time,  and  so  unmistakably, 
that  he  no  longer  doubted  it  to  be  human. 

Some  one  called  to  him  from  the  river  below  the 
bridge. 

He  climbed  upon  the  old  stone  parapet  and 
looked  down  straight  to  the  black  silent  pool  about 
the  arches.  So  dark  was  it  in  the  shadows  that 
the  keenest  eyes  might  not  have  perceived  a  hu- 
man thing  there.  Gavin  Ord,  however,  saw  the 
thing  as  clearly  as  in  daylight — a  woman's  fair 
head  with  great  sodden  leaves  about  it  and 
streaming  black  hair  caught  up  upon  the  ripples. 
A  shudder  of  awe  indescribable  came  upon  him 
as  he  looked.  For  the  woman  was  dead,  he  said- 
had  been  long  dead,  and  yet  her  voice  spoke  to 
him. 

He  knew  that  she  was  dead,  for  the  water  lapped 
upon  her  half -closed  eyes  and  the  fair  head  turned 
slowly  as  the  eddies  swirled  slowly  about  it. 
Every  right  instinct  told  him  that  this  was  a 
vision  and  not  a  truth  of  the  night.  He  listened 
for  the  voice  again ;  but  it  was  silent  now.  As  it 
ceased  to  speak  to  him,  the  spell  vanished.  He 
ran  round  quickly  to  the  river  bank  and  clambered 
over  the  slippery  stones  to  the  pool's  edge. 

It  was  black  as  night  and  void  as  the  ether. 


Gavin  Ord  was  not  a  nervous  man  and  very  far 
from  a  superstitious  one. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  15 

When  he  had  quite  assured  himself  that  he  had 
been  dreaming,  his  first  act  was  to  return  to  the 
path  and  laugh  aloud  at  the  whole  venture. 

"  Melbourne  Hall  is  generous  to  me,"  he  said; 
'  *  here  are  the  very  ghosts  coming  out  to  welcome 
me." 

None  the  less  he  tried  to  remember  what  he 
had  eaten  in  the  train  for  dinner  and  whether 
his  recent  nights  had  been  late  or  early. 

'  *  I  shall  get  to  bed  at  ten  here, ' '  he  said  to  him- 
self, "  and  put  in  a  good  walk  before  breakfast. 
I  have  been  doing  a  good  deal  and  I  never  was 
great  at  night  work.  Of  course,  if  I  told  anyone, 
I  should  be  written  down  a  liar.  It's  always  the 
case  when  you  hear  or  see  anything  the  other  man 
has  not  seen  or  heard." 

He  caught  up  his  bag  and  marched  on  resolutely 
up  the  wide  gravelled  drive  by  which  you  reach 
the  great  gate  of  the  Manor.  A  loud  bell  answer- 
ing to  his  touch  awakened  splendid  echoes  in  the 
courtyard  of  the  house  and  set  the  dogs  barking 
within.  When  a  footman  opened  to  him,  he  dis- 
covered that  Melbourne  Hall  was  a  building  about 
a  quadrangle  and  that  its  main  door  admitted  him 
no  farther  than  to  the  great  square  court  of  which 
the  chapel  and  the  banqueting  hall  were  the  chief 
ornaments.  Above  the  latter,  lights  shone  brightly 
in  many  windows.  But  the  courtyard  itself  lay 
in  darkness. 

"  Say  that  Mr.  Ord  is  here,"  Gavin  instructed 
the  footman,  and  added :  "  I  am  very  late,  I  fear ; 
I  was  stupid  enough  to  miss  the  afternoon  train. ' ' 

The  footman,  shutting  the  door  with  a  solemn 


16  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

formality,  called  another  to  his  aid  that  the  dress- 
ing case  might  be  safely  conveyed  to  the  guest's 
bedroom. 

"  'Is  lordship  was  sayin'  you  wouldn't  come, 
sir.  Longish  walk  by  Moretown  too.  We'd  have 
sent  the  motor  but  the  '  smiffer  '  don't  like  late 
hours.  'Is  lordship  is  now  in  the  boodore  along 
of  the  Lady  Evelyn.  This  is  Mr.  Griggs,  the 
butler,  sir " 

Gavin  was  not  particularly  interested  in  the 
fact;  but  the  butler  in  question  had  no  intention 
of  being  ignored.  A  fat  and  pompous  man  of  flat 
and  florid  visage,  he  stood,  in  majestic  pose,  at 
the  head  of  the  short  flight  of  stone  stairs  leading 
to  the  boudoir,  and  his  attitude  no  archbishop 
could  have  bettered. 

' '  Mr.  Gavin  Ord,  is  it  not  T  "  he  asked. 

Gavin  said  that  it  was  so. 

' '  We  kept  dinner  back  ten  minutes,  sir — I  trust 
there  has  not  been  an  accident. ' ' 

"  No  accident  at  all — go  and  tell  the  Earl  that 
I  am  here." 

Mr.  Griggs  looked  as  though  he  had  been  shot. 

' '  James  will  do  that, ' '  he  retorted  loftily — wav- 
ing his  hand  as  a  conductor  waves  a  baton. 

The  obsequious  footman  strolled  off  to  do  the 
majestic  man's  bidding  and  Gavin  meanwhile 
found  himself  in  the  banqueting  hall,  an  old  Tudor 
apartment  he  had  admired  in  many  pictures  but 
now  entered  for  the  first  time.  The  banners  of 
three  centuries  hung  in  tatters  from  its  oaken  ceil- 
ing; the  musicians'  gallery  stood  as  it  was  when 
fiddle  and  harp  made  music  there  for  the  seventh 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  17 

Henry,  but  Gavin  resented  the  fashion  of  electric 
lamps  none  the  less  and  instantly  resolved  to 
change  them — in  which  intention  the  fat  butler 
interrupted  him  with  the  news  that  the  Earl 
awaited  Mr.  Ord  in  the  long  gallery. 

"  Her  ladyship  is  there  too,  sir.  Perhaps  you 
will  be  taking  supper  afterwards. ' ' 

"  Nothing  to-night,"  replied  Ord  quickly;  "  I 
shall  dream  enough  in  the  old  house  without 
that." 

"  And  I  dare  say  you  will,  sir.  Many's  the 
night  I've  seen  a  something,  though  I  couldn't 
rightly  say  what  it  were. ' ' 

Gavin  judged  that  it  might  have  been  a  flask 
of  spirits  which  thus  troubled  the  good  man's 
dreams ;  but  he  made  no  comment  as  they  mounted 
a  broad  staircase,  and  passing  through  a  dainty 
little  room  in  one  of  the  turrets  of  the  house,  en- 
tered the  superb  long  gallery  which  is  the  very 
masterpiece  of  Melbourne  Hall.  The  vast  length 
of  this,  its  glorious  ceiling,  the  carvings  in  geo- 
metric tracery,  the  embrasured  windows,  the  bays, 
the  ingles — how  familiar  they  seemed  to  Gavin, 
and  yet  how  far  from  the  truth  of  them  had  the 
drawings  been !  Just  as  a  man  may  enter  joyously 
the  house  of  his  dream  as  a  very  home  of  love  and 
welcome,  so  did  Gavin  pass  into  the  gallery  and 
feast  his  eyes  upon  its  treasures.  Here,  he  said, 
a  life's  work  might  be  done,  indeed;  here  the 
ripest  genius  might  fall  and  be  gathered  by  the 
lap  of  time. 

There  were  brass  candelabra  at  intervals  upon 
the  walls  of  the  gallery  and  little  electric  lamps 


18  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

aglow  in  the  sham  candles  above  them.  Far  down 
the  immense  apartment,  Gavin  perceived  the  stal- 
wart figure  of  a  bronze-faced  man  and  by  his  side 
a  young  girl,  whose  pose  was  so  natural,  whose 
manner  was  so  clearly  that  of  an  aristocratic, 
that  he  did  not  hesitate  to  name  her  instantly 
for  Lord  Melbourne's  daughter.  Unable  at  the 
distance  to  see  much  of  her  face,  it  took  shape 
for  him  as  he  drew  nearer ;  and  so  he  found  him- 
self against  his  will  staring  at  her  intently  as  one 
who  would  satisfy  himself  as  to  where  and  when 
he  had  seen  her  before.  This  interest  he  could  not 
immediately  explain ;  nor  did  her  father 's  cordial 
if  somewhat  loud-toned  greeting  recall  him  from 
his  vain  pursuit  of  identity.  He  felt  instinctively 
that  the  Lady  Evelyn  was  no  stranger  to  him, 
and  yet  for  the  life  of  him  he  could  give  no  good 
account  of  any  previous  meeting. 

"  Welcome  to  Melbourne  Hall,  Mr.  Ord — I  had 
begun  to  say  that  you  had  deserted  us." 

Gavin  stammered  some  vain  tale  of  lost  train 
and  business  calls;  but  he  did  not  tear  his  eyes 
away  from  the  Lady  Evelyn's  face. 

"  Great  God,"  he  said  to  himself  at  last,  "  that 
was  the  face  I  saw  in  the  river !  ' ' 


BOOK  I 
THE  ESCAPADE 

CHAPTER   I 

A  TELEGRAM  TO   BUKHAEEST 

UPON  a  night  of  May,  some  twelve  months  be- 
fore Gavin  Ord  had  gone  down  into  Derbyshire 
at  the  Earl  of  Melbourne's  invitation,  Count  Odin, 
a  Roumanian  celebrity  of  evil  reputation  in  his 
own  country  and  none  in  others,  quitted  the  Savoy 
Hotel  by  the  Strand  entrance  and  had  just  called 
a  hansom  when  a  well-dressed  girl,  whom  he  was 
surprised  to  see  afoot,  stumbled  by  accident 
against  him,  and  nervously,  yet  very  prettily, 
offered  him  her  apologies. 

Gifted  with  a  prodigious  amount  of  quite  un- 
meaning gallantry,  the  Count  bowed  low  and  said 
in  passable  English  that  no  harm  had  been  done 
and  that  it  should  be  his  part  to  apologize. 

11  Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  "it  is  all  the  fault 
of  your  narrow  pavements.  Here  is  a  cab.  Since 
we  are  no  longer  strangers  permit  me  to  drive 
you  to  your  destination.  The  night  is  too  hot  for 
you  to  walk." 

The  girl  drew  back  instantly  as  though  covered 
with  confusion,  and  without  vouchsafing  a  single 


20  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

word  of  reply  to  the  civil  invitation,  went  on  west- 
ward as  fast  as  the  busy  street  would  permit  her 
to  walk.  Her  only  desire  appeared  to  be  to  escape 
recognition  by  those  who  passed  her  by.  She 
might  have  been  any  age  between  twenty  and 
twenty-five  years;  her  hair  was  coal  black,  and 
her  eyes  were  of  the  deepest  blue.  So  much  the 
Count  had  not  failed  to  observe ;  but  his  curiosity 
was  not  by  any  means  at  an  end.  Dismissing  the 
cab  with  a  haste  so  pronounced  that  a  fortune 
might  have  hung  upon  his  quest,  he  set  off  down 
the  Strand  after  the  unknown;  and  was  soon  so 
near  to  her  that  his  outstretched  hand  could  have 
touched  her  as  she  walked. 

Who  was  she?  Whither  was  she  going; 
whence  she  had  come  The  meeting  had  been  so 
unlocked  for,  it  appeared  to  be  such  a  very  story 
of  marvels  that  the  man  would  not,  dare  not  even 
now,  believe  in  his  good'  fortune.  For  three  years, 
often  by  day  and  night,  he  had  been  dreaming  of 
an  hour  when  he  would  find  the  daughter  of  the 
man  who  had  consigned  a  father  to  a  living  grave 
and  compelled  the  son  to  a  vagrant  life.  And 
here,  in  a  London  street,  he  met  her  face  to  face 
— not  by  his  own  desire  or  cleverness,  but  by  one 
of  those  accidents  which  are  the  true  tragedies 
of  life.  Never  for  a  single  moment  did  he  doubt 
that  she  was  the  woman  he  sought.  He  had  come 
to  England,  guarding  as  a  precious  possession  a 
miniature  painting  which  had  been  found  among 
his  father's  effects.  The  face  which  he  had  so 
often  looked  upon  in  that  little  picture  was  most 
certainly  the  face  he  had  seen  for  one  brief  in- 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  21 

stant  in  the  Strand  this  night.  Eyes,  expression, 
the  shape  of  the  characteristic  mouth,  the  tiny 
ears,  the  coal-black  hair,  how  familiar  they 
seemed  to  him.  "  She  is  Forrester's  daughter," 
he  said,  and  walked  the  faster  for  the  thought. 

It  was  an  easy  task,  for  the  girl  had  no  idea 
that  anyone  followed  her.  Crossing  the  street  by 
St.  Martin 's  Church,  she  passed  the  National  Gal- 
lery at  the  same  swift  walk;  and  neither  looking 
to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  she  made  straight  for 
Pall  Mall  and  the  Carlton  Hotel  there.  At  the 
first  hazard,  Count  Odin  believed  that  this  was 
her  destination,  a  fact  which  puzzled  him  not  a 
little;  but  she  passed  the  hotel  without  a  glance 
at  its  doors  and  going  on  up  the  Haymarket, 
turned  suddenly  into  one  of  the  little  courts  there 
and  was  instantly  lost  to  his  view.  In  his  turn, 
he  recognized  the  place  at  a  glance,  and  as  though 
both  relieved  and  enlightened  stood  a  moment 
upon  the  pavement  to  debate  the  situation. 

"  So,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  my  lady  is  an  ac- 
tress— or  would  it  be  a  chorus  girl?  "Well,  we 
shall  soon  find  that  out." 

He  strolled  up  the  narrow  alley,  and  coming 
to  a  broad  double  door  of  wood,  saw  written  above 
it  in  big  red  letters,  "  STAGE  DOOR,"  and,  on 
a  bell  below,  the  words  "  Carlton  Theatre."  The 
comparative  quiet  of  the  scene,  the  few  people 
about,  and  the  darkness  of  the  passage  beyond  the 
door  told  him  that  a  rehearsal  was  in  progress 
and  not  an  actual  performance.  When  he  read 
the  bill  of  the  play,  affixed  to  a  dirty  board,  he 
learned  that  on  the  following  Wednesday  evening, 


22  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

at  eight-thirty  precisely,  Mr.  Charles  Izard  would 
present  Etta  Eomney  in  the  new  play  "  Haddon 
Hall,"  by  Constant  Hayter.  Not  much  of  a  play- 
goer, though  a  recognized  frequenter  of  those 
houses  devoted  to  musical  comedy,  the  Count 
asked  himself  if  he  had  ever  heard  the  name  of 
Etta  Eomney  before.  He  could  not  remember  to 
have  done  so — but,  while  he  stood  there,  the  stage 
door-keeper  came  out  to  smoke  a  pipe  in  the  alley, 
and  to  him  the  Count  addressed  himself  with  that 
disregard  of  diplomatic  approach  which  is  a  habit 
of  the  dubious  adventurer. 

* '  The  young  lady  who  just  went  in — I  think  she 
is  a  friend  of  mine. '  ' 

"  Ah,"  said  the  stage  door-keeper,  without  tak- 
ing his  pipe  from  his  lips. 

"  If  you  could  tell  me  her  name,  I  would  send 
in  my  card. ' ' 

"  No  doubt  you  would,"  said  the  stage  door- 
keeper. 

Nonplussed,  the  Count  stroked  his  mustache 
a  little  viciously  and  began  to  fumble  in  his 
trousers'  pocket. 

"  No  good,"  said  the  stage  door-keeper,  antici- 
pating the  offer,  and  then  bridling  up  as  he  recog- 
nized the  kind  of  man  he  had  to  do  with,  he  ex- 
claimed peremptorily: 

"  Come,  it's  time  you  went  home  to  dinner,  ain't 
it;  you  look  hungry  enough." 

"  I  was  going  to  give  you  five  shillings,"  said 
the  Count. 

"  You  keep  'em  for  your  poor  old  mother  in 
the  workhouse,"  said  the  stage  door-keeper,  and 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  23 

he  went  within  and  slammed  the  doors — a  hint 
that  even  Count  Odin  could  not  mistake. 

Far  from  being  disturbed  at  this  honest  rebuff, 
the  Count,  with  an  adventurer's  ready  resource, 
strolled  round  to  the  front  of  the  theatre  and  con- 
sulted the  play-bills  there  on  the  off-chance  that 
one  of  them  would  enlighten  him.  The  box-office 
was  closed  at  this  hour,  but  framed  photographs 
of  the  company  engaged  for  the  new  play, ' '  Had- 
don  Hall,"  decorated  the  pillars  of  the  vestibule; 
while  a  large  picture,  full-length  and  conspicu- 
ously displayed,  "  presented  "  the  heroine,  Miss 
Etta  Eomney,  to  such  of  the  curious  as  should 
care  to  take  their  stand  before  it.  Hardly  had 
the  Count  glanced  at  the  photograph  when  he 
recognized  the  original  of  it  to  be  the  young  girl 
whom  he  had  just  left  at  the  stage-door. 

"  Forrester's  daughter,  beyond  a  doubt,"  said 
he. 

He  waited  for  no  more  but  called  a  cab  and 
drove  to  the  telegraph  office  in  Waterloo  Place. 
Thence  he  sent  a  long  telegram  to  Bukharest.  It 
was  vague  in  its  terms  and  would  have  been  un- 
derstood by  none  but  the  person  who  read  it. 

"  Tracked  down,"  it  said;  "  am  remaining 
here. ' ' 


CHAPTER   II 

ETTA  KOMNEY   IS   PRESENTED 

THE  new  play,  "  Haddon  Hall,"  had  been  an- 
nounced for  half-past  eight  precisely  on  the 
evening  of  Wednesday,  the  twentieth  day  of  May. 
It  still  wanted  a  few  minutes  to  the  hour  of  eight 
when  that  famous  American  impressario,  Mr. 
iCharles  Izard,  permitted  a  waiter  in  the  Carlton 
Hotel  to  serve  him  with  a  coffee  and  liqueur ;  while 
he  confided  to  his  invaluable  confederate  and 
stage-manager,  Mr.  Walter  Lacombe,  the  assuring 
intelligence  that  he  had  no  doubt  either  about  the 
play  or  the  company. 

"  They're  ho-mo-gen-e-us, "  he  said,  lighting  a 
cigar  with  comfortable  deliberation;  "  the  first 
act's  bully  and  any  play  with  that  Third  Act  I 
produce.  We  must  get  something  written  for  her 
to  follow  in.  My  side  will  take  "  Haddon  Hall  " 
and  it  will  take  Etta  Eomney.  If  it  doesn't,  I 
close  up. ' ' 

Mr.  Lacombe,  the  stage-manager,  had  his  own 
doubts,  but  he  was  far  too  diplomatic  to  express 
them. 

"  When  you  close  up,  I  sell  bananas,"  said  he; 
"  that  will  be  in  the  Ides  of  March." 

Mr.  Charles  Izard,  who  had  not  enjoyed  the  dis- 
tinction of  three  years'  idleness  at  Cambridge 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  25 

(and  so  had  made  a  vast  fortune),  produced  those 
strange  concatenations  of  sounds  which  served 
him  for  laughter  before  uttering  a  pious  wish. 

"  It's  the  '  ides  of  the  critics  '  I'd  like  to 
touch,"  he  exclaimed  with  real  feeling;  "  you 
know  what  they're  going  to  say  about  this  as  well 
as  I  do " 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  said  Lacombe  frankly, 
"  they'll  baste  it,  sure  enough.  No  historical  play 
is  likely  to  please  "Watley.  He'll  say  that  hot 
blankets  are  the  proper  treatment." 

"I'd  like  to  wrap  him  up  in  'em  and  smother 
him,"  interjected  Mr.  Charles  Izard,  still  piously. 

"  That's  so — he's  capable  de  tout.  But  I  fancy 
he  will  take  her  none  the  less. ' ' 

"  Etta  Romney,  why  yes!  I'd  like  to  see  the 
man  who  wouldn't  take  her.  It's  a  woman  that 
makes  a  play  nowadays.  If  you'd  more  of  'em 
this  side,  you  wouldn't  have  so  many  failures.  In 
America  we  star  the  woman  first  and  the  play 
afterwards.  Here  you  star  the  man  and  when  all 
the  schoolgirls  have  seen  him,  your  theatre's 
empty. ' ' 

"  Exactly — this  play  is  the  exception.  YouVe 
certainly  cut  the  writing  on  the  wall.  There's  no 
room  for  whiskers  on  your  ideas." 

Mr.  Izard  drained  his  coffee  cup  and  admitted 
loftily  that  there  was  not. 

"I'd  have  been  a  fool  not  to.  Here's  a  girl 
comes  to  me  out  of  the  ewigkeit.  No  name,  no 
story,  nothing.  Won 't  tell  me  who  she  is  or  where 
she  has  played  before.  Just  says,  l  I've  read 
about  Constant  Hayter's  play — I  know  Derby- 


26  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

shire;  I  have  loved  the  tradition  of  that  story  all 
my  life.  Money  is  nothing  to  me.  Let  me  play 
the  part  Miss  Fay  Warner  has  given  up.  Let 
me  play  it  at  rehearsal,  and  then  say  whether  you 
wish  me  to  go  on.'  You  couldn't  better  it  in  a 
fairy  book.  I  see  her  act  a  scene,  hear  her  speak 
twenty  lines,  and  say, '  That's  bully.'  She  doesn't 
ask  a  salary — why,  sir,  the  girl's  a  genius  born 
and  bred — and  what's  more  she's  a  lady  from  the 
top  of  her  hat  to  the  soles  of  her  boots.  I  couldn't 
wish  my  own  daughter  to  behave  better." 

"  Something  odd  about  her  all  the  same,"  La- 
combe  reflected;  "  dreadfully  afraid  of  being 
known.  She  goes  in  and  out  of  the  theatre  like 
a  ghost." 

Mr.  Charles  Izard  laughed  again. 

"  Well,  don't  she  play  the  part  of  one?  "  he 
asked  affably.  "  How  would  you  have  her  come 
in  and  out?  Whistling  like  the  overhead?  The 
part's  herself — the  Lady  of  Haddon.  She  was 
born  to  it.  If  that  girl  hasn't  walked  as  a  ghost 
sometime  or  other,  put  me  down  for  twenty 
pounds  to  an  hospital.  And  no  salary,  sir,  not  a 
single  penny." 

' '  Immense, ' '  said  Lacombe,  but  immediately 
paused  as  a  well-known  critic  passed  through  the 
hall  and  went  out  to  the  theatre  almost  adjoining 
the  hotel. 

"  There's  Clayaton,"  he  went  on  quickly,  "  it's 
not  often  he  sits  out  a  sword-and-cape  drama." 

' '  Then  he  '11  sit  out  one  to-night  and  be  ashamed 
of  himself  in  the  morning.  Let 's  get,  my  boy,  it 's 
just  on  the  half -hour.  [We  must  be  there. ' ' 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  27 

"What  precisely  would  have  happened  had  so 
great  a  man  not  been  there,  the  merely  humble 
individual  might  hardly  dare  to  say.  As  events 
went,  Mr.  Charles  Izard  put  on  a  light  great-coat 
with  a  great  deal  of  splendid  ceremony,  and  giving 
the  many-colored  lackey  a  shilling,  strolled  pomp- 
ously into  the  street  with  his  cigar  still  alight. 
Passing  His  Majesty's,  before  whose  doors  the 
boards  "  House  Full  "  were  conspicuously  dis- 
played, the  pair  walked  leisurely  on  to  the  front 
entrance  of  the  Carlton  Theatre,  and  were  there 
gratified  by  one  of  those  spectacles  which  London 
alone  can  display  upon  the  first  night  of  a  new 
production. 

Cabs,  carriages,  electric  broughams,  even  the 
motor-cars,  arrived  in  quick  succession  before  the 
brightly  lighted  vestibule  of  one  of  the  prettiest 
theatres  in  London.  From  these  emerged  women 
in  blazing  evening  dress,  men  who  had  dined,  and 
men  capricious  and  irritable  because  they  had 
not  dined — young  girls  to  whom  all  plays  were  a 
dream  of  delight,  mere  boys  who  already  had 
voted  the  whole  thing  ' '  rot. ' '  As  for  the  critics, 
they  were  chiefly  patrons  of  hansoms;  though  a 
few  arrived  on  foot,  two  and  two,  each  trying  to 
learn  what  the  other  would  say  about  a  perform- 
ance which  many  had  witnessed  at  a  dress  re- 
hearsal. Short  men  and  tall  men,  bearded  men 
and  bald  men,  they  cared  nothing  for  the  success 
of  the  play,  but  everything  for  the  glory  of  the 
notices  they  must  write.  An  historical  drama 
could  not  fail  to  give  them  a  fine  opening.  They 
lolled  back  easily  in  their  stalls  as  men  whose  lit- 


28 

erary  knives  were  for  the  moment  sheathed,  but 
would  be  busy  anon. 

The  theatre  was  packed  to  the  very  ceiling  when 
the  curtain  rose,  and  few  of  the  amiable  first- 
nighters  were  missing  from  the  audience.  Famous 
lawyers,  doctors  of  letters,  and  doctors  of  med- 
icine, editors  of  illustrated  papers  and  editors  of 
papers  that  were  not  illustrated,  literary  ladies 
and  ladies  who  were  not  literary,  novelists,  essay- 
ists, poets,  that  curious  quasi-Bohemian  crowd 
which  constitutes  a  London  first-night  house, 
stood  for  most  of  the  arts  and  many  of  the 
sciences  of  our  day;  and  yet  in  the  main  brought 
a  child's  heart  to  the  play  as  Bohemian  crowds 
will.  The  cynics  of  eighteen,  mostly  representing 
halfpenny  evening  papers,  were  among  the  few 
who  denounced  the  drama  before  they  had  seen  it. 
"  '  Haddon  HalP  on  the  stage  again — why,"  said 
they,  "  there  have  been  twenty  Di  Vernons  in 
our  time  and  why  should  this  Di  Vernon  find 
mercy?  '  She  was  already  in  the  coach  of  failure 
so  far  as  they  were  concerned.  The  curtain  rose 
upon  their  mutterings  and  did  not  still  them. 

It  was  a  pretty  scene,  the  park  of  famous  Had- 
don Hall  and  the  meeting  between  pretty  Dorothy 
Vernon  and  her  young  lover  beneath  the  shelter- 
ing yews.  The  unknown  debutante,  Etta  Komney, 
received  a  lukewarm  welcome  from  the  audience; 
but  all  admitted  the  grace  of  her  attitudes,  the 
charm  of  her  voice,  and  the  earnestness  she 
brought  to  her  assistance.  A  little  amateurish  in 
the  earlier  moments  of  the  play  she  warmed  to 
her  work  anon ;  and  a  love  scene  which  would  have 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  29 

been  ridiculous  had  it  been  ill-played,  she  lifted 
by  natural  talent  to  a  pinnacle  at  least  of  tolera- 
tion. So  the  curtain  fell  to  some  applause;  and 
the  great  impressario,  Mr.  Charles  Izard,  again 
ventured  the  opinion  that  she  was  "  bully," 
though  his  voice  had  not  that  confident  ring  it 
possessed  at  the  dinner-table.  Could  the  girl 
make  a  failure  of  it,  after  all?  It  was  just  pos- 
sible. And  undoubtedly  the  play  was  not  a  mas- 
terpiece. 

So  the  Second  Act  passed  and  found  him  not  a 
little  anxious,  and  he  sat  far  back  in  his  box  when 
the  curtain  rose  upon  the  Third  and  concentrated 
his  whole  attention  upon  the  performance.  The 
scene  was  that  of  the  Long  Gallery  at  Haddon; 
the  episode,  a  midnight  meeting  between  Dorothy 
and  her  lover.  Dressed  in  spotless  white  with  the 
softest  black  hair  tumbling  about  her  almost  to 
her  knees,  young  and  supple  limbs  moving  ele- 
gantly, a  face  that  Reynolds  might  have  loved  to 
paint,  a  voice  that  was  music  to  hear — never- 
theless all  these  physical  attributes  were  speedily 
forgotten  in  the  sincerity  of  Etta  Eomney's  acting 
and  the  human  feeling  which  animated  it.  Here 
was  one  who  loved  every  stone  of  this  ancient 
house  which  the  quivering  canvas  attempted  to 
portray;  who  had  wandered  abroad  often  in  its 
stately  park,  who  spoke  the  tongue  of  three  cen- 
turies ago  more  naturally  than  her  own,  who  had 
been  so  moved  by  this  story  of  Di  Vernon's  life 
that  she  gave  her  very  soul  to  its  re-telling.  From 
amazement  the  audiences  passed  quickly  to  a  kind 
of  entrancement  which  only  genius  can  command. 


30  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

It  did  not  applaud;  its  silence  was  astounding — 
not  a  whisper,  scarce  the  rustle  of  a  dress  could 
be  heard.  The  spell  growing,  it  followed  the 
white  figure  from  scene  to  scene ;  was  unconscious, 
perhaps,  that  any  other  than  she  trod  the  stage; 
devoured  her  with  amazed  eyes;  heard,  for  the 
first  time,  each  a  tale  of  mediaeval  England  as 
neither  historian  nor  romancer  had  ever  told. 
When  the  curtain  fell,  the  people  still  sat  in  si- 
lence a  little  while;  but  the  applause  came  at 
length,  upon  a  tempest  of  wild  excitement  rarely 
known  in  a  modern  theatre. 

"Who  was  she?    Whence  had  she  come? 

A  hundred  ready  tongues  asked  the  question 
which  none  appeared  able  to  answer. 

There  was  but  one  man  in  the  house  who  made 
sure  of  Etta  Eomney's  identity,  and  he  was  a 
Roumanian. 

Count  Odin  had  witnessed  the  girl 's  debut  from 
a  box  on  the  second  tier. 

"  She  is  a  great  actress,"  he  said  to  his  com- 
panion, Felix  Horowitz,  a  young  attache  from 
the  Hungarian  Embassy;  "  I  am  going  to  make 
love  to  her." 

The  young  man  looked  up  quickly. 

"  I  promise  you  failure,"  he  said — "  a  woman 
who  can  spfSak  of  England  like  that  will  marry 
none  but  an  Englishman."  •  -  •  w 


CHAPTER   III 

SUCCESS   AND   AFTERWAKDS 

ETTA  BOMNEY  sat  in  her  little  dressing-room 
when  the  play  was  over,  so  very  tired  after  all  she 
had  done  that  even  the  congratulations  of  Mr. 
Charles  Izard  failed  to  give  her  pleasure. 

Unlike  the  successful  actress  of  our  time,  she 
had  not  yet  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
' '  flower  ' '  brigade,  as  little  Dulcie  Holmes,  one  of 
her  friends  in  the  theatre,  would  call  them;  and 
despite  her  success  and  the  astonishment  it  had 
provoked,  no  baskets  of  roses  decorated  her 
dressing-table,  nor  were  expensive  bouquets 
thrown  "  negligently  "  to  the  various  corners  of 
the  room.  Two  red  roses  in  a  cheap  vase ;  a  bunch 
of  narcissi,  which  had  obviously  come  from  the 
flower-girls  of  the  Criterion,  witnessed  her  tri- 
umph in  lonely  majesty.  Even  the  redoubtable 
Mr.  Izard,  not  anticipating  the  splendor  of  the 
evening,  had  forgotten  to  "  command  "  a  basket 
for  his  star.  He,  good  man,  had  but  one  word 
for  his  surprising  fortune.  "  It's  bully,"  he  said 
•. — and  repeated  the  conviction  usque  ad  nauseam. 

Etta  sat  alone,  but  it  was  not  for  many  minutes 
after  the  curtain  fell.  Little  Dulcie  Holmes,  the 
artist's  daughter,  who  had  a  "  walking  part  "  at 
twenty-four  shillings  a  week,  came  leaping  into 


32  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

the  room  presently  and  catching  her  friend  in 
both  arms  kissed  her  rapturously. 

"  Oh,  Etta,"  she  cried  ardently,  "  oh,  my  dear 
t — they  won't  go  away  even  now.  Can't  you  hear 
them  calling  for  you?  " 

"  They  are  too  kind  to  me,"  was  the  quiet  re- 
sponse, '  *  and  all  because  I  love  Derbyshire.  Isn  't 
it  absurd? — but,  of  course,  I'm  very  pleased, 
Dulcie." 

*  *  Think  of  it,  dear  Etta.  Your  very  first  night 
and  Mr.  Izard  in  such  a  state  that  he'd  give  you 
a  hundred  a  week  if  you  asked  him.  Of  course, 
you  won't  play  for  nothing  now,  Etta." 

"  I've  never  thought  of  it,"  said  Etta  still  with- 
out apparent  emotion  .  .  .  and  then  with  a 
very  sweet  smile,  she  asked,  "  What  would  you 
say  if  I  told  you  that  I  was  about  to  give  up  the 
theatre  altogether,  Dulcie?  " 

Dulcie  opened  her  eyes  so  wide  (and  they  were 
pretty  blue  eyes  too)  that  the  rest  of  her  piquant 
face  was  quite  dwarfed  by  them. 

"  Give  up  the  theatre.  You're  joking.  Here 
Lucy — here's  Etta  talking  of  giving  up  the  the- 
atre. Now,  what  do  you  say  to  that  ?  ' 

Lucy  Grey,  a  pretty  brunette,  whose  share  in 
the  triumph  was  the  saucy  delivery  of  the  mo- 
mentous line,  "  Oh,  Captain,  how  could  you?  ' 
(she  playing  a  maid's  part  for  thirty  shillings  a 
week),  would  not  believe  that  Dulcie  could  possi- 
bly be  serious. 

"  Whatever  will  the  papers  say  to-morrow?  ' 
she  exclaimed.    * '  Did  you  ever  think  she  could  do 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  33 

it  I  I  didn't,  and  I'm  not  going  to  say  that  I  did. 
Why,  here 's  Mr.  Izard  quite  beside  himself. ' ' 

11  And  he'll  be  beside  Etta  just  now  wanting 
her  to  sign  a  three  years'  engagement  as  prin- 
cipal. Now,  you  take  my  advice  and  don't  you 
do  it,  dear — not  unless  he'll  pay  you  a  hundred  a 
week.  That's  where  girls  ruin  their  prospects, 
taking  on  things  just  when  they're  excited.  If  it 
were  me,  wouldn't  I  ask  him  something !  Perhaps 
he'll  play  hot  and  cold — they  sometimes  do;  but 
your  fortune's  made,  Etta,  and  I  can't  think  why 
you  take  it  so  quietly.  How  I  should  dance  and 
sing  if  I  were  you " 

Etta  had  begun  to  gather  up  the  heavy  tresses 
of  her  long  black  hair  by  this  time;  but  she  did 
so  slowly  and  deliberately  as  one  whom  success 
had  neither  surprised  nor  agitated.  Could  the 
two  young  girls  about  her  have  read  her  thoughts 
they  would  have  been  astonished  indeed.  Not 
idly  had  she  asked  Dulcie  Holmes  what  people 
would  say  if  she  gave  up  the  theatre  entirely.  For 
give  it  up  she  must.  In  one  short  month  her 
father  would  return  from  the  Continent.  She 
must  be  at  home  by  that  time,  and  none  must  ever 
know  that  she  had  left  her  home. 

"  We'll  talk  it  all  over  in  the  morning,"  she 
said,  still  smiling — "  I  want  both  of  you  to  come 
and  see  me  to-morrow.  We  shall  have  read  the 
papers  by  that  time.  *  Whatever  will  they  say 
about  me?  " 

"  It  doesn't  matter  what  they  say.  Everyone 
in  London  will  be  talking  about  you  before  the 
week's  out.  All  the  same,  the  papers  are  going 


34  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

to  be  nice.  Lucy's  cousin  was  in  the  vestibule 
^between  the  acts  and  he  heard  the  critics  talking. 
They  called  you  '  immense,'  dear.  That  means 
bad  luck  for  the  play,  but  everything  for  you.  You 
just  wait  until  the  morning  comes." 

11  I  fear  I'll  have  to,"  said  Etta,  with  a  sly 
look  toward  them;  but  just  then  there  came  a 
tap  on  the  door  and  who  should  it  be  but  a  mes- 
senger with  the  intimation  that  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Charles  Izard  expected  Miss  Etta  Eomney  to 
supper  at  the  Carlton  Hotel  as  soon  as  she  could 
conveniently  join  their  party.  To  the  extreme 
astonishment  both  of  Dulcie  Holmes  and  Lucy 
Grey,  Etta  appeared  to  be  distressed  beyond 
words  by  this  customary  invitation. 

* '  Oh,  I  never  can  go ;  I  dare  not  go — whatever 
shall  I  do?  "  she  asked. 

'  *  Not  go !  "  cried  Dulcie,  almost  too  amazed  to 
speak;  "  why,  of  course  you  must  go.  Charles 
would  send  soldiers  to  fetch  you  if  you  refused. 
The  star  always  sups  with  him  on  a  first  night.  I 
never  heard  of  such  a  thing.  She  talks  of  not 
going,  Lucy!  ' 

"  That's  the  excitement,"  said  Lucy  wisely.  "  I 
should  be  just  the  same  in  her  place.  She  wants 
a  glass  of  wine.  She'll  break  out  crying  just  now 
if  she  doesn't  get  one." 

Their  solicitude  for  Etta  was  very  pretty  and 
really  honest.  They  were  too  fond  of  her  to  be 
jealous.  Women  who  love  loyally  welcome  their 
friends  successes;  men  rarely  do.  Dulcie  and 
Lucy  might  say  * '  what  a  lucky  girl  she  is ;  "  but 
they  would  not  have  wished  her  to  be  less  so. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  35 

As  for  Etta  herself,  the  invitation  perplexed 
her  to  distraction.  How  if  she  met  some  one  who 
knew  her  at  the  Carlton.  It  was  very  unlikely  she 
thought.  Fifteen  years  passed  in  a  French  con- 
vent with  few  English  pupils  do  not  admit  of 
many  embarrassing  acquaintances.  The  subse- 
quent years,  lived  chiefly  in  the  park  of  a  medi- 
aeval country  house  rarely  open  to  strangers,  were 
not  likely  to  be  more  dangerous.  Etta  knew  that 
discovery  might  be  disastrous  to  her  beyond  the 
ordinary  meaning  of  the  term ;  but  her  cleverness 
told  her  that  the  risk  of  it  was  very  small.  It  was 
then  after  eleven  o'clock.  She  remembered  that 
they  turned  the  people  out  of  the  Carlton  Hotel  at 
half -past  twelve. 

"  Tell  Mr.  Izard  that  I  will  come,"  she  said  to 
the  messenger,  and  then  to  the  girls,  "  You  won't 
forget  to-morrow.  Bun  round  early  and  we'll 
read  the  newspapers  together.  And,  dear  girls, 
we'll  spend  Sunday  at  Henley,  as  I  promised 
you." 

They  kissed  her  affectionately,  promising  not 
to  forget.  There  was  not  so  much  pleasure  in 
their  lives  that  they  should  pass  it  by  when  a  good 
fairy  approached  them.  Sharing  rooms  together, 
they  had  as  yet  discovered  upon  some  fifty-odd 
shillings  a  week  little  of  the  glamour  and  none  of 
the  rewards  of  theatrical  life.  For  them  the 
theatre  was  the  house  of  darkening  hope,  wherein 
success  passed  by  them  every  hour  crying, 1 1  Look 
at  me — how  beautiful  I  am;  but  not  for  you." 
They  had  bclioved  that  the  pilgrim's  way  would 


36  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

be  strewn  with  gold — they  discovered  it  to  be 
paved  with  promises. 

"  Of  course,  we  shall  come,"  said  Lucy  in  her 
matter  of  fact  way;  "  whatever  should  we  be 
thinking  of  if  we  didn't." 

But  Dulcie  said: 

"  I'm  going  to  wear  my  pink  blouse  on  Sunday 
and  the  hat  you  gave  me — didn't  I  tell  you  that 
Harry  Lauder  would  be  at  Henley?  Well,  then, 
he  will  .  «  .  and,  Etta,  could  you,  would  you, 
mind  if  I " 

Etta  laughingly  told  her  that  she  could  not, 
would  not  positively  mind  at  all ;  and  then  remem- 
bering how  late  it  was,  she  hurried  from  the 
theatre  and  found  herself,  just  as  the  clocks  were 
striking  the  quarter-past  eleven,  in  the  hall  of  the 
Carlton,  standing  before  Mr.  Charles  Izard  and 
listening  but  scarcely  hearing  the  shrewd  com- 
pliments which  that  astute  gentleman  deigned  to 
shower  upon  them. 

"  You've  struck  it  thick,  my  dear,"  he  was 
saying.  "  Get  twelve  months'  experience  in  my 
company  and  you'll  make  a  great  actress.  I  say 
what  I  mean.  All  you  want  is  just  what  my  thea- 
tre will  teach  you — the  little  tricks  of  our  trade 
which  go  right  there,  though  the  public  doesn't 
know  much  of  them.  Come  and  have  supper  now, 
and  we'll  talk  business  in  the  morning.  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  the  critics  spread  themselves 
over  this.  Don't  pay  too  much  attention  to  them 
— they  dare  not  quarrel  with  me. ' ' 

Mrs.  Charles  Izard,  a  frank  florid  woman,  was 
much  less  discreet  and  much  more  honest. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  37 

"  Perfectly  adorable,  my  child,"  she  said;  "  it 
was  joy  all  the  time  to  me.  You  couldn't  have 
played  it  better  if  you'd  have  been  born  in  a 
Duke's  house.  Wherever  you  got  your  manners 
from,  I  don't  know.  Now,  really,  Charles,  don't 
say  it  wasn't;  don't  contradict  me,  Charles.  You 
know  that  Miss  Eomney  is  going  to  make  a  for- 
tune for  you;  and  you're  rich  enough  as  it  is. 
Why,  child,  the  man's  worth  five  million  dollars 
if  he's  worth  a  penny.  And  it  isn't  five  years 
since  I  was  making  my  own  clothes." 

The  supper  room  unfortunately  put  an  end  to 
these  interesting  revelations.  Etta  followed  the 
loquacious  Mrs.  Izard  as  closely  as  she  could, 
being  sure  that  such  a  gorgeous  apparition  (for 
the  lady  was  dressed  from  head  to  foot  in  scarlet)1 
would  divert  attention  from  herself ;  and,  in  truth, 
it  did  so.  A  few  turned  their  heads  to  say,"  That's 
Izard  and  there 's  the  only  woman  of  his  company 
who  fixes  her  own  salary;  "  but  the  supper  was 
already  in  full  swing  and  the  people  for  the  most 
part  silent  upon  their  own  entertainment  or  that 
of  their  guests.  Of  the  six  or  seven  women  who 
remarked  the  stately  girl  in  Izard 's  company,  the 
majority  first  said,  "  What  a  charming  gown!  ' 
The  men  rarely  noticed  her.  They  had  taken  their 
second  glasses  of  champagne  by  this  time  and 
were  genially  flirting  with  the  women  at  their  own 
tables.  If  they  said  anything,  it  was  just,  "  What 
a  pretty  girl!  " 

And  what  were  Etta's  thoughts  as  she  sat  for 
the  first  time  amid  that  garish  company,  typical 
of  one  of  London's  sets,  and  in  some  sense  of 


38  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

society?  Possibly  she  would  have  had  some  diffi- 
culty in  expressing  them.  The  music  excited  her, 
the  ceaseless  chatter  hurt  ears  long  accustomed  to 
silence.  In  truth,  she  had  tried  to  depict  this 
scene  in  her  Derbyshire  home  many  times  since 
her  father  had  shut  his  gates  upon  the  world.  But 
the  reality  seemed  so  very  different  from  her 
dreams ;  so  very  artificial,  so  shallow,  so  far  from 
splendid.  And  beneath  her  disappointment  lay 
the  fear  that  some  accident  might  disclose  her 
identity.  How,  she  asked,  if  she  stood  up  there 
and  told  them  all,  "  My  name  is  not  Etta  but 
Evelyn.  To-night  I  am  an  actress  at  the  Carlton 
Theatre,  but  you  will  know  me  by  and  by  as  an 
Earl's  daughter."  Would  they  not  have  said  that 
she  was  a  mad  woman?  Such  a  confession  would 
have  been  nothing  but  the  truth,  none  the  less. 

She  had  planned  and  carried  out,  most  daringly, 
as  wild  an  escapade  as  ever  had  been  recorded  in 
the  story  of  that  romantic  home  of  hers,  to  which 
she  must  soon  return  as  secretly  as  she  had  come. 
Until  this  moment  her  success  had  been  complete. 
Not  a  man  or  woman  in  all  London  had  turned 
upon  her  to  say,  "  You  are  not  Etta  Eomney  but 
another,  the  daughter  of  the  one-time  Robert  For- 
rester, of  whom  your  cousin's  death  has  made  an 
earl."  Living  a  secluded  life  in  a  quiet  lodging 
in  Bedford  Square,  none  remarked  her  presence; 
none  had  the  curiosity  to  ask  who  she  was  or 
whence  she  came.  The  very  daring  of  her  ad- 
venture thrilled  and  delighted  her.  She  would 
remember  it  to  the  end  of  her  life ;  and  when  she 
returned  to  Derbyshire  the  stimulus  of  it  would 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  39 

go  with  her,  and  permit  her  to  say,  ' '  I,  too,  have 
known  the  hour  of  success,  the  meaning  of  ap- 
plause, the  glamour  of  the  world. ' ' 

These  thoughts  followed  her  to  the  supper  room 
at  the  Carlton  and  were  accountable  for  the  in- 
difference with  which  she  listened  to  the  praises 
and  the  prophecies  of  that  truly  great  man,  Mr. 
Charles  Izard.  He,  wonderful  being,  confessed  to 
himself  that  he  could  make  nothing  of  the  girl 
and  that  she  was  altogether  beyond  his  experience. 
Her  stately  manners  frightened  him.  When  he 
called  her,  "  my  dear,"  as  all  women  are  called 
in  the  theatre,  the  words  would  sometimes  halt 
upon  his  lips  and  he  would  hurriedly  correct  them 
and  say,  "  Miss,"  instead.  The  first  guess  that 
he  had  made  at  her  identity  would  have  it  that  she 
was  a  country  parson's  daughter,  or  perhaps  a 
relative  of  the  agent  or  the  steward  of  a  Derby- 
shire estate.  Now,  however,  he  found  himself  of 
another  opinion  altogether,  and  there  came  to 
him  the  uneasy  conviction  that  some  great  mys- 
tery lay  behind  his  good  fortune  and  would  stand 
eventually  between  him  and  his  hopes. 

Now  many  of  Mr.  Charles  Izard 's  friends  vis- 
ited his  supper-table  from  time  to  time,  and  of 
these  one  or  two  were  languid  young  men  in 
quest  of  introductions.  These  stared  at  Etta, 
open-mouthed  and  rudely;  but  her  host  made 
short  work  of  them  and  they  ambled  away,  seek- 
ing whom  they  might  devour  elsewhere,  but  never 
with  any  ard.or.  Supper  was  almost  done,  indeed 
before  anyone  of  sufficient  importance  to  engage 
the  great  Charles  Izard 's  attention  made  his  ap- 


40  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

pearance.  At  last,  however,  lie  hailed  a  stranger 
with  some  enthusiasm,  and  this  at  a  moment  when 
Etta  was  actually  listening  to  a  piteous  narrative 
of  Mrs.  Charles'  domestic  achievements. 

"  Why.  Count,  what  good  fortune  tossed  you 
out  of  the  blanket  ?  Come  and  sit  right  here.  You 
know  my  wife,  of  course?  ' 

Mrs.  Izard  and  Etta  turned  their  heads  together 
to  see  a  somewhat  pale  youth  with  dark  chestnut 
hair  and  wonderfully  plaintive  eyes — a  youth 
whose  dark  skin  and  slightly  eccentric  dress  pro- 
claimed him  unmistakably  to  be  a  foreigner;  but 
one  who  was  quite  at  home  in  any  society  in  which 
he  might  find  himself.  The  face  was  pleasing; 
the  manners  those  of  a  man  who  has  travelled 
far  and  has  yet  to  learn  the  meaning  of  the  word 
embarrassment.  To  Mr.  Izard  he  extended  a  well- 
shaped  hand  upon  which  a  ruby  ring  shone  a 
little  vulgarly,  but  to  Etta  he  spoke  with  some- 
thing of  real  cordiality  in  his  tone. 

"  Why,  Miss  Eomney,"  he  exclaimed,  his  ac- 
cent betraying  a  considerable  acquaintance  with 
Western  America,  "  why,  Miss  Eomney,  we  are 
no  strangers  surely!  " 

Etta  colored  visibly;  but  fearing  a  misconcep- 
tion of  her  momentary  confusion,  she  said  to  Mrs. 
Izard : 

"  The  Count  and  I  ran  into  each  other  in  the 
Strand  the  other  day.  I  fear  I  was  very  clumsy. ' ' 

"  So  little,"  said  the  Count,  "  that  never  shall 
I  call  a  cab  in  London  again  without  remember- 
ing my  good  fortune." 

He  drew  a  chair  to  Etta's  side  and  sat  so  near 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  41 

to  her  that  even  the  great  man  remarked  the 
circumstance. 

"  That's  how  I'd  like  to  see  'em  sit  down  in  my 
comedies,"  he  remarked  with  real  feeling.  "  The 
young  men  I  meet  can't  take  a  chair,  let  alone  fix 
themselves  straight  on  it.  You  come  along  to 
me,  Count,  and  I'll  pay  you  a  hundred  dollars  a 
week  to  be  master  of  the  ceremonies.  Our  stage 
manager  used  to  do  stunts  on  a  bicycle.  He  thinks 
people  should  do  the  same  on  chairs." 

Count  Odin  looked  at  the  speaker  a  little  con- 
temptuously with  the  look  of  a  man  who  never 
forgets  his  birthright  or  jests  about  it.  To  Etta 
he  said  with  an  evident  intention  of  explaining  his 
position : 

* '  Mr.  Izard  crossed  over  with  me  the  last  time 
I  have  come  from  America.  I  remember  that  he 
had  the  difficulty  with  his  chair  on  that  occasion. ' ' 
And  then  he  asked  her — ' '  Of  course  you  have  been 
across,  Miss  Eomney;  you  know  America,  I  will 
be  sure?  " 

Etta  answered  him  with  simple  candor,  that  she 
had  travelled  but  little. 

1 '  I  was  educated  in  a  convent.  You  may  im- 
agine what  our  travels  were.  Once  every  year  we 
had  a  picnic  on  the  Seine  at  Les  Andlays.  That's 
where  I  got  my  knowledge  of  the  world, ' '  she  said 
with  a  laugh. 

"  Then  your  ideas  are  of  the  French?  "  He  put 
it  to  her  with  an  object  she  could  not  divine, 
though  she  answered  as  quickly. 

"  They  are  entirely  English  both  in  my  pref- 
erences and  my  friendships,"  was  her  reply,  nor 


42  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

could  she  have  told  anyone  why  she  put  this  af- 
front upon  him. 

"  She's  going  to  make  friends  enough  out  yon- 
der in  the  Fall,"  said  Izard,  whose  quick  ear 
caught  the  tone  of  their  conversation.  "  I  shall 
take  this  company  over  in  September  if  we  play 
to  any  money  this  side.  Miss  Romney  goes  with 
me,  and  I  promise  her  a  good  time  any  way. 
America's  the  country  for  her  talent.  You've 
too  many  played-out  actors  over  here.  Most  of 
them  think  themselves  beautiful,  and  that's  why 
their  theatres  close  up." 

He  laughed  a  flattering  tribute  to  his  own 
cleverness,  as  much  as  to  say — "  My  theatres 
never  close  up."  Count  Odin  on  his  part  smiled 
a  little  dryly  as  though  he  might  yet  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  the  proposed  arrangement. 

"  Are  you  looking  forward  to  the  journey,  Miss 
Eomney?  "  he  asked  Etta  in  a  low  voice. 

"  I  am  not  thinking  at  all  about  it,"  she  said 
very  truthfully. 

'  *  Then  perhaps  you  are  looking  backward, ' '  he 
suggested,  but  in  such  a  low  tone  that  even  Izard 
did  not  hear  him. 

When  Etta  turned  her  startled  eyes  upon  him, 
he  was  already  addressing  some  commonplace  re- 
mark to  his  hostess,  while  Mr.  Charles  Izard 
amused  himself  by  diligently  checking  the  total 
of  the  bill. 

' '  I  could  keep  a  steam  yacht  on  what  I  pay  for 
wine  in  this  hotel,"  he  remarked  jovially,  address- 
ing himself  so  directly  to  the  ladies  that  even  his 
good  dame  protested. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  43 

"  My  dear  Charles,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  are 
not  suggesting  that  I  have  drunk  it?  " 

"  Well,  I  hope  some  one  has,"  was  the  affable 
retort.  "  Let's  go  and  smoke.  It's  suffocating 
in  here. ' ' 

Etta  had  been  greatly  alarmed  by  the  Count's 
remark,  though  she  was  very  far  from  believing 
that  it  could  bear  the  sinister  interpretation  which 
her  first  alarm  had  put  upon  it.  This  fear  of 
discovery  had  dogged  her  steps  since  she  quitted 
her  home  to  embark  upon  as  wild  an  adventure  as 
a  young  girl  ever  set  her  hand  to;  but  if  dis- 
covery came,  she  reflected,  it  would  not  be  at  the 
bidding  of  a  foreigner  whom  she  had  seen  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life  but  a  few  days  ago.  Such 
wisdom  permitted  her  quickly  to  recover  her  com- 
posure, and  she  pleaded  the  lateness  of  the  hour 
and  her  own  fatigue  as  the  best  of  reasons  for 
leaving  the  hotel. 

"  I  am  glad  you  were  pleased,"  she  said  to 
Izard,  holding  out  her  hand  directly  they  entered 
the  hall.  ' '  Of  course  it  has  all  been  very  dreadful 
to  me  and  I'm  still  in  a  dream  about  it.  The 
newspapers  will  tell  me  the  truth  to-morrow,  I 
feel  sure  of  it." 

He  shook  her  hand  and  held  it  while  he 
answered  her. 

"  Don't  you  go  thinking  too  much  about  the 
newspapers,"  he  said,  with  a  splendid  sense  of 
his  own  importance.  ' '  When  Charles  Izard  says 
that  a  play's  got  to  go,  it's  going,  my  dear,  though 
the  great  William  Shakespeare  himself  got  out  of 
his  grave  to  write  it  down.  You've  done  very  well 


44  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

to-night  and  you'll  do  better  when  you  know  your 
way  about  the  stage.  Go  home  and  sleep  on  that, 
and  let  the  critics  spread  themselves  as  much  as 
they  please." 

As  before,  when  she  had  first  come  to  the  hotel, 
Mrs.  Izard  defied  the  warning  glances  thrown  to- 
ward her  by  the  man  of  business  and  repeated  her 
honest  praise  of  Etta's  performance. 

11  It's  years  since  I  heard  such  enthusiasm  in  a 
theatre,"  she  admitted;  "  why,  Charles  was  quite 
beside  himself.  I  do  believe  you  made  him  cry, 
my  dear." 

The  mere  suggestion  that  the  great  man  could 
shed  tears  under  any  circumstances  whatever  ap- 
pealed irresistibly  to  Count  Odin's  sense  of 
humor. 

11  Put  that  in  the  advertisement  and  you  shall 
have  all  the  town  at  your  theatre.  An  impres- 
sario's  tears!  They  should  be  gathered  in  cups 
of  jasper  and  of  gold.  But  I  imagine  that  they 
will  be,"  he  added  gayly  before  wishing  Etta  a 
last  good-night. 

"  We  shall  meet  again,"  he  said  to  her  a  little 
way  apart.  "  I  am  the  true  believer  in  the  acci- 
dent of  destiny.  Let  us  say  au  revoir  rather  than 
good-night. ' ' 


Etta  looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes  and  said, 
"  Good-night." 


CHAPTER   IV 

TWO   PEESONALITIES 

ETTA  EOMNEY  was  very  early  awake  upon  the  fol- 
lowing morning;  and  not  for  the  first  time  since 
she  had  come  to  London  did  her  environment  so 
perplex  her  that  some  minutes  passed  before  she 
could  recall  the  circumstances  which  had  brought 
her  to  that  square  room  and  made  her  a  stranger 
in  a  house  of  strangers. 

Leaping  up  with  a  young  girl's  agility,  she  drew 
the  blind  aside  and  looked  out  upon  deserted 
Bedford  Square,  as  beautiful  in  that  early  light 
of  morning  as  Bedford  Square  could  ever  be. 

How  still  it  all  was !  Not  a  footfall  anywhere. 
No  milk  carts  yet  to  rattle  by  and  suggest  the 
busy  day.  Nothing  but  a  soft  sunshine  upon  the 
drawn  blinds,  a  lonely  patch  of  grass  beneath 
lonely  trees,  and  great  gaunt  houses  side  by  side 
and  so  close  together  that  each  appeared  to  be 
elbowing  its  neighbor  for  room  in  which  to  stand 
upright. 

Etta  returned  to  her  bed  and  crouched  upon  it 
like  a  pretty  wild  animal,  half  afraid  of  the  day. 
A  whole  troop  of  fears  and  hopes  rushed  upon 
her  excited  brain.  What  had  she  done?  Of  what 
madness  had  she  not  been  guilty?  To-day  the 
newspapers  would  tell  her.  If  they  told  her  father 
also — her  father  whom  she  believed  to  be  snug  in 


46  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

distant  Tuscany — what  then,  and  with  what  con- 
sequences to  herself!  A  fearful  dread  of  this 
came  upon  her  when  she  thought  of  it.  She  hid 
her  eyes  from  the  light  and  could  hear  her  own 
heart  beating  beneath  the  bed-clothes. 

She  was  not  Etta  now,  but  knew  herself  by  an- 
other name,  the  name  of  Evelyn,  which  in  this 
mood  of  repentance  became  her  better,  she 
thought.  True,  she  had  been  Etta  when  she  ap- 
peared before  the  people  last  night,  the  wild  mad 
Etta,  given  to  feverish  dreams  in  her  old  Derby- 
shire home  and  trying  to  realize  them  here  amid 
the  garish  scenes  of  London's  dramatic  life.  But 
arrayed  in  the  white  garb  of  momentary  penitence, 
she  was  Evelyn,  the  good  nun's  pupil;  the  docile 
gentle  Evelyn  awaiting  the  redemption  of  her 
father's  promise  that  the  gates  of  the  world 
should  not  be  shut  forever  upon  her  youth,  but 
should  open  some  day  to  the  galleries  of  a  young 
girl's  pleasure.  It  was  the  Etta  in  her  which 
made  her  impatient  and  unable  to  await  the  ap- 
pointed time;  the  Etta  which  broke  out  in  this 
mad  escapade,  ever  trembling  upon  the  brink  of 
discovery  and  fearful  in  its  possibilities  of  re- 
proach and  remorse.  But  the  Evelyn  reckoned  up 
the  consequences  and  was  afraid  of  them. 

She  could  not  sleep  again  although  it  was  then 
tyut  six  o'clock  of  the  morning,  and  she  lay  for 
more  than  an  hour  listening  to  those  growing 
sounds  which  are  the  overture  of  a  London  day. 
Workmen  discussing  politics,  amiably  if  in  strident 
tones,  went  by  with  heavy  tread  upon  their  way 
to  shop  or  factory.  Milk  carts  appeared  with 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  47 

their  far  from  musical  accompaniment  of  doleful 
cries  and  rattling  cans.  An  amorous  policeman 
conducted  flirtations  dexterously  with  various 
cooks,  and  passed  thence  with  sad  step.  Then 
came  the  postman  with  his  cheery  rat-tat  at  nearly 
every  house ;  the  newsboy  with  the  welcome  cry  of 
* ;  piper  ' ' ;  the  first  of  the  cabs,  the  market  carts, 
the  railway  vans,  each  contributing  something  to 
that  voice  of  tumult  without  which  the  metropolis 
would  seem  to  be  a  dead  city. 

Etta  sat  up  in  her  bed  once  more  when  she 
heard  the  newsboy  in  the  square.  The  papers! 
Was  it  possible  that  they  would  tell  the  public  all 
about  last  night's  performance;  that  her  name 
would  figure  in  them;  that  she  would  be  praised 
or  blamed  according  to  the  critics '  judgment  f  The 
thought  made  her  heart  beat.  She  had  been  warned 
by  that  great  man,  Mr.  Charles  Izard,  not  to  pay 
too  much  attention  to  what  the  papers  said;  but 
how  could  she  help  doing  so  ?  A  woman  is  rarely  as 
vain  as  a  man,  but  in  curiosity  she  far  surpasses 
him.  Etta  was  just  dying  of  curiosity  to  read 
what  the  critics  said  about  her  when  old  Mrs. 
"Wegg,  her  landlady,  appeared  with  her  morning 
tea;  and  this  good  dame  she  implored  to  bring 
up  the  newspapers  at  once. 

1 1  I  can 't  wait  a  minute,  Mrs.  Wegg, ' '  she  said, 
for,  of  course,  the  old  lady  knew  that  she  was  a 
"  theatrical."  "  Do  please  send  Emma  up  at 
once — it's  absolute  torture." 

The  excellent  Mrs.  Wegg,  who  had  her  own 
ideas  of  newspaper  reading,  expressed  her  sym- 
pathy in  motherly  language: 


48  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

u  Ah,  I  feel  that  way  myself  about  the  stories 
in '  Snippets, '  ' '  she  said.  * '  I  assure  you,  my  dear, 
that  when  the  Duke  of  Eochester  ran  away  with 
the  hospital  nurse,  I  couldn't  sleep  in  my  bed  at 
night  for  wanting  to  know  what  had  become  of 
her.  I'll  send  Emma  up  this  minute — the  lazy, 
good-for-nothin',  gossipin'  girl  she  is,  to  be  sure. 
Now,  you  drink  up  your  tea  and  don't  worrit 
about  it.  I've  known  them  that  can't  act  a  bit 
praised  up  to  the  sky  by  the  crickets.  I'm  sure 
they'll  say  something  nice  about  you." 

She  waddled  from  the  room  leaving  Etta  to  in- 
tolerable moments  of  suspense.  When  the  news- 
papers came,  a  very  bundle  which  she  had  ordered 
yesterday,  she  grabbed  them  at  hazard,  and  catch- 
ing up  one  of  the  morning  halfpenny  papers  imme- 
diately read  the  disastrous  headline,  * '  Poor  Play 
at  the  Carlton. "  So  it  was  failure  after  all,  then ! 
Her  heart  beat  wildly ;  she  hardly  had  the  courage 
to  proceed. 

POOE  PLAY  AT   THE   CAELTON 

BUT 

A  PEESONAL  TEIUMPH  FOE  MISS 
EOMNEY 

The  Old  Story  of  Haddon  Hall  Again 


The  Star  Which  Did  Not  Fail  To  Shine 

Etta  read  now  without  taking  her  eyes  from  the 
paper.     The  notice  would  be  described  by  Mr. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  49 

Izard  later  in  the  day  as  a  '  *  streaky  one  ' ' — layers 
of  praise  and  layers  of  blame  following  one  an- 
other as  a  rare  tribute  to  the  discretion  of  the 
writer,  who  had  been  far  from  sure  if  the  play 
would  be  a  success  or  a  failure.  In  sporting  lan- 
guage, the  gentleman  had  "  hedged  "  at  every 
line,  but  his  praise  of  Etta  Eomney  was  unstinted. 

"Here,"  he  said,  "is  one  of  the  most  natural  actresses 
recently  discovered  upon  the  English  stage.  Miss  Eom- 
ney has  sincerity,  a  charming  presence,  a  feeling  for  this 
old  world  comedy  which  it  is  impossible  to  overpraise. 
We  undertake  to  say  that  experience  will  make  of  her  a 
great  actress.  She  has  flashed  upon  our  horizon  as  one  or 
two  others  have  done  to  instantly  win  the  favor  of  the 
public  and  the  praise  of  the  critic." 

Etta  put  the  paper  aside  and  took  up  a  notice 
in  a  very  different  strain.  This  was  from  the 
stately  pages  of  "  The  Thunderer."  Herein  you 
had  a  dissertation  upon  Haddon  Hall,  the  Eliza- 
bethan Drama,  the  Comedie  Franchise,  the 
weather,  and  the  tragedies  of  .^Eschylus.  The 
writer  thought  the  play  a  good  specimen  of  its 
kind.  He,  too,  admitted  that  in  Miss  Etta  Romney 
there  was  the  making  of  a  great  actress : 

" But  she  is  not  English,"  he  protested,  "we  refuse  to 
believe  it.  An  artiste  who  can  recreate  the  atmosphere 
of  a  mediaeval  age  and  win  a  verdict  of  conviction  has  not 
learnt  her  art  in  Jermyn  Street.  We  look  for  the  biog- 
rapher to  help  us.  Has  the  Porte  St.  Martin  nothing  to 
say  to  this  story?  Has  Paris  no  share  in  it?  We  await 
the  answer  with  some  expectation.  Here  is  a  comedy  of 
which  the  Third  Act  should  be  memorable.  But  whoever 
designed  the  scene  in  the  chapel  is  capable  de  tout.  .  .  " 


50  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

So  to  the  end  did  this  amiable  appreciation  ap- 
plaud the  player  and  tolerate  the  play  for  her 
sake.  Etta  understood  that  it  must  mean  much 
to  her;  but  she  was  too  feverishly  impatient  to 
dwell  upon  it,  and  she  turned  to  the  "  Daily 
Shuffler  "  wishing  that  she  had  eyes  to  read  all 
the  papers  at  once.  The  "  Daily  Shuffler  "  was 
very  cruel: 

"Miss  Etta  Komney,"  it  said,  "is  worthy  of  better 
things.  As  a  whole,  the  performance  was  beneath  con- 
tempt. At  the  same  time,  we  are  not  unprepared  to  hear 
that  an  ignorant  public  is  ready  to  patronize  it." 

Had  Etta  known  that  the  author  of  this  screed 
was  a  youth  of  eighteen,  who  had  asked  for  two 
stalls  and  been  allotted  but  one,  she  might  have 
been  less  crestfallen  than  she  was  when  her  fin- 
gers discovered  this  considerable  thorn  upon  her 
rose-bush.  But  she  knew  little  of  the  drama  and 
less  than  nothing  of  its  criticism ;  and  there  were 
tears  in  her  eyes  when  she  put  the  papers  down. 

"  How  cruel,"  she  said,  "  how  could  people 
write  of  others  like  that!  ':  She  did  not  believe 
that  she  could  have  the  heart  to  read  more,  and 
might  not  have  done  so  had  not  little  Dulcie 
Holmes  flung  herself  into  the  room  at  that  very 
moment  and  positively  screamed  an  expression  of 
her  rapture. 

"  Oh,  you  dear,"  she  cried,  "  oh,  you  splendid 
Etta!  Have  you  read  them!  Have  you  seen 
them?  Now  isn't  it  lovely!  Aren't  you  proud 
of  them,  Etta?  Aren't  you  just  crying  for  joy?  ' 

Lucy  Grey,  who  had  climbed  the  stairs  in  a  more 


THE    LADY   'EVELYN  51 

stately  fashion  and  was  very  much  out  of  breath 
at  the  top  of  them,  came  in  upon  the  climax  to  tell 
Dulcie  not  to  carry  on  so  dreadfully  and  to  assure 
Etta  that  the  notices  were  very  nice.  She,  how- 
ever, soon  joined  a  shrill  voice  to  her  friend's,  and 
the  two,  sitting  upon  the  bed,  began  to  read  the 
papers  together  with  such  a  running  babble  of 
comment,  interjections,  cries,  and  good-natured 
expressions  of  envy,  that  the  neighbors  might  well 
have  believed  the  house  to  be  on  fire. 

1 '  The  curtain  fell  to  rapturous — oh,  Etta — now, 
Lucy,  do  keep  quiet — her  acting  in  the  Gallery 
Scene — I  say  that  I  began  it  first — her  acting  in 
the  Gallery  Scene — she  has  a  grace  so  subtle,  a 
manner  so  winning — isn't  that  lovely! — now, 
Lucy,  be  quiet — we  began  to  think  after  the  Second 
Act — oh,  bother  the  Second  Act — now,  there  you 
go  again — she  is  indeed  the  embodiment  of  that 
picture  romance  has  painted  for  us  and  history 
destroyed — oh,  Etta — !  ' '  and  so  on,  and  so  on. 

Etta  admitted  upon  this  that  they  had  some 
good  excuse  for  congratulating  her.  In  the  thea- 
tre she  found  it  quite  natural  to  listen  to  the 
girls'  pleasant  chatter  and  to  put  herself  upon 
their  level  both  as  to  Bohemian  habits  of  life  and 
odd  views  of  the  world.  Away  from  the  theatre, 
however,  the  Evelyn  in  her  would  assert  itself. 
Despite  her  affectionate  nature,  she  found  herself 
not  a  little  repelled  by  that  very  freedom  of 
speech  and  act  which  seemed  to  her  so  delightful 
a  thing  upon  the  stage.  She  was  too  kind-hearted 
to  show  it,  but  her  distaste  would  break  out  at 
intervals,  especially  in  those  quiet  morning  hours 


52  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

when  the  freshness  of  the  day  reproached  the 
memories  of  the  night  with  its  garish  scenes  and 
its  jingling  melodies.  To-day,  especially,  she  would 
have  given  much  to  be  alone  to  think  upon  it  all 
and  try  to  understand  both  what  she  had  done 
and  what  the  consequences  might  be.  But  the 
girls  gave  her  no  opportunity  even  for  a  moment 's 
leisure. 

11  You  said  we'd  lunch  at  the  Savoy,  Etta 

"  And  you'd  drive  us  in  the  Park  after- 
wards  " 

1 1  Aren  't  you  really  very  rich,  Etta  f  You  must 
be,  I'm  sure.  Do  you  know  I  have  only  got  three 
shillings  in  the  world  and  that  must  last  me  until 
salaries  are  paid. ' ' 

* '  I  Ve  worn  this  dress  seven  months, ' '  said  Lucy, 
"  and  look  at  it.  Who'll  write  nice  things  about 
me  with  my  petticoat  in  rags?  Well,  I  suppose 
what  is  to  be  is  to  be.  I'm  going  to  the  Vaudeville 
in  the  Autumn  and  perhaps  my  ship  will  come  in. ' ' 

"  My  dear  children,"  said  Etta  kindly,  "  you 
know  that  I  will  always  help  you  when  I  can,  and 
you  must  let  me  help  you  to-day  when  I  am  happy 
— so  happy,"  she  added  almost  to  herself,  "  that 
I  do  not  believe  it  is  real  even  now. ' ' 

They  laughed  at  her  quaint  ideas  and  would 
have  read  the  notices  over  again  to  her  but  for 
her  emphatic  protest. 

' '  No, ' '  she  said,  ' '  we  have  so  much  to  do ;  so 
much  to  think  of.  After  all,  what  does  it  matter 
while  the  sun  is  shining?  " 


.CHAPTER   V 

THE  LETTER 

THE  sunny  day,  indeed,  passed  all  too  quickly. 
A  splendid  telegram,  fifty  words  long,  from  the 
splendid  Mr.  Charles  Izard  set  the  seal  of  that 
great  man's  approval  upon  the  verdict  of  the 
newspapers. 

"  You  have  got  right  there,*'  he  wired,  "  the 
business  follows.  See  me  at  four  o'clock  without 
fail.  .  .  ." 

"  That  means  a  long  engagement,"  said  the 
shrewd  Dulcie,  when  she  read  the  telegram. 

Lucy,  prudent  always,  thought  that  Etta  should 
have  a  gentleman  to  advise  her. 

"  Don't  go  to  the  theatre-lawyers,"  she  said; 
' '  they  always  make  love  to  you.  If  you  had  a  gen- 
tleman friend,  it  would  be  nice  to  speak  to  him 
about  it.  Mr.  Izard  knows  what  he's  got  in  his 
lucky  bag.  Now,  don't  you  go  to  signing  anything 
just  because  he  asks  you,  dear.  Many's  the  poor 
girl  who's  engaged  herself  when  half  the  mana- 
gers in  London  wanted  her.  I  should  hold  my 
head  very  high  if  it  were  me.  That's  the  only 
way  with  such  people." 

Etta  promised  to  do  so,  and  having  taken  them 
to  lunch,  as  she  promised,  she  found  herself,  at 


54  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

four  o  'clock  of  the  afternoon,  in  the  elegeant  office 
wherein  the  great  Charles  Izard  did  his  business. 
Then  she  remembered  with  what  awe  and  trep- 
idation she  had  entered  that  sanctum  upon  her 
first  business  visit  to  London.  How  different  it 
was  to-day,  and  yet  how  unreal  still!  The  little 
man  had  the  morning  and  evening  papers  proper- 
ly displayed  upon  his  immense  writing  table ;  and, 
when  Etta  came  in,  he  wheeled  up  a  chair  for  her 
with  all  the  ceremony  with  which  he  was  capable. 

"  Why,  now,"  he  said,  "  what  did  I  tell  you! 
Afraid  of  the  newspapers,  eh?  Well,  there  they 
are,  my  dear.  Don't  tell  me  you  haven't  read  'em, 
for  I  shouldn't  believe  you." 

Etta  admitted  that  she  might  have  glanced  at 
them. 

* '  Every  one  seems  very  kind  to  me, ' '  she  said. 
* '  I  wish  they  had  spoken  as  well  of  the  play ;  but 
I  suppose  they  must  find  fault  with  something.  I 
know  so  little  about  these  things,  Mr.  Izard." 

"  Then  you'll  soon  learn,  my  dear.  As  for 
what  they  say  about  the  play,  that  don't  matter 
two  cents  while  the  business  keeps  up.  We  '11  take 
$9,000  this  week  or  I  know  nothing  about  it.  Let 
the  newspapers  enjoy  themselves  while  they  can. 
They've  been  kind  enough  to  you;  but  you're 
clever  enough  to  understand  the  advantages  my 
name  gives  you.  Produce  that  play  at  any  other 
house  and  let  any  other  man  bill  it  and  they'd 
have  the  notices  up  in  a  fortnight.  But  they'll 
take  just  what  I  give  'em,  because  I  know  just 
what  they  want  and  how  they  want  it.  That's 
how  we're  going  to  do  business  together.  You 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  55 

can  earn  good  money  with  me  and  I  can  find  you 
the  plays.  My  cards  are  all  on  the  table;  I'll  sign 
a  three  years'  engagement  here  and  now  and  pay 
you  a  hundred  dollars  a  week — that 's  £20  sterling, 
English  money.  If  you  want  to  think  it  over,  take 
your  own  time.  You've  a  good  deal  of  talent  for 
the  stage,  and  my  theatre  is  going  to  make  you — 
that's  what  you've  to  say  to  yourself,  '  Charles 
Izard  will  produce  me  and  his  name  spells  money. ' 
As  I  say,  take  your  own  time  to  think  it  over. 
And  don't  forget  you  are  the  first  woman  in  all 
my  life  to  whom  I  have  offered  a  hundred  dollars 
a  week  on  a  first  engagement." 

Etta  listened  a  little  timidly  to  these  frank  and 
business-like  proposals.  Such  a  situation  as  this 
had  never  occurred  to  her  when  she  left  her  home 
in  Derbyshire  and  set  out  upon  this  mad  escapade. 
She  had  asked  for  a  hearing  from  a  man  who 
made  it  his  boast  that  he  saw  and  heard  every  one 
who  cared  to  approach  him.  The  tone  of  her 
letter,  the  restraint  of  it,  the  fact  that  she  had 
known  Haddon  Hall  all  her  life,  that  every  bit  of 
that  splendid  ruin,  every  tree  in  the  old  park, 
every  glade  in  the  gardens  were  familiar  to  her, 
struck  a  note  of  assent  in  the  great  American's 
imagination  and  compelled  him  to  send  for  her. 
He  believed  that  at  the  outset  she  would  serve  for 
a  ' '  walking  on  ' '  part.  When  he  saw  her,  he  asked 
her  to  read  a  scene  from  "  Haddon  Hall  "  and 
heard  her  on  the  stage.  Then  he  said, ' '  Here  is  a 
born  actress,  and  not  only  that  but  an  aristocrat 
besides. ' '  The  secrecy  which  had  attended  her  ap- 
plication whetted  his  desire  to  engage  her.  "  I 


56  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

will  play  for  a  month  for  nothing, ' '  she  had  said. 
Even  Charles  Izard  did  not  feel  disposed  to  offer 
her  a  smaller  sum. 

And  here  he  was  talking  of  agreements  for  a 
term  of  three  years  and  of  £20  a  week ! 

How  to  answer  him  Etta  did  not  know. 

She  was  perfectly  well  aware  that  her  weeks  in 
London  must  be  few.  Any  day  might  bring  a  letter 
from  her  father  in  which  he  would  speak  of  a 
return  to  Derbyshire.  The  mythical  visit  to  Aunt 
Anne,  which  had  been  her  excuse  to  the  servants 
at  home,  would  be  exploded  in  a  moment  should 
her  father  return.  None  the  less,  the  situation 
had  its  humors.  ' '  If  only  I  dare  tell  Mr.  Izard, ' ' 
she  had  said  to  herself,  knowing  well  that  she 
would  not  tell  him  unless  it  were  as  a  last  re- 
source. 

11  You  are  as  kind  to  me  as  the  critics,"  she 
exclaimed  upon  a  pause,  which  greatly  alarmed 
that  shrewd  man  of  business — he  had  expected 
her  to  jump  down  his  throat  at  the  offer.  "  You 
are  very  kind  to  me,  Mr.  Izard,  and  you  will  not 
misunderstand  me  when  I  hesitate.  I  have  already 
told  you  that  money  is  nothing  to  me.  Perhaps  I 
am  tired  of  the  stage  already;  I  do  not  know.  I 
feel  quite  unable  to  say  anything  about  it  to-day. 
It  is  all  so  new  to  me.  I  want  to  be  quite  sure  that 
I  am  a  success  before  I  accept  any  one 's  money. ' ' 

Her  reply  astonished  Izard  very  much,  though 
he  tried  to  conceal  his  annoyance.  Shuffling  his 
papers  with  a  fat  hand,  upon  which  a  great  dia- 
mond ring  sparkled,  he  breathed  a  little  heavily 
and  then  asked  almost  under  his  breath: 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  57 

"  Any  one  else  been  round?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  ask  me  have  I  any  other 
offers?  " 

"  That's  so." 

11  As  frankly,  none — at  present." 

He  looked  at  her  shrewdly. 

"  Expecting  them,  I  suppose?  ' 

' '  I  have  never  thought  of  it, ' '  she  said,  greatly 
amused  at  the  turn  affairs  were  taking.  "  Of 
course,  I  know  that  successful  people  do  get 
offers " 

"  But  not  twice  from  Charles  Izard,"  he  ex- 
claimed very  meaningly — then  turning  round  in 
his  chair  he  looked  her  straight  in  the  face  and 
said,  "  Suppose  I  make  it  one  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars?  " 

"  Oh,"  she  rejoined,  "  it  really  is  not  a  ques- 
tion of  money,  Mr.  Izard " 

11  No,"  he  said  savagely,  "  it's  that — Belinger. 
Been  seeing  you,  hasn't  he — talking  of  what  he 
could  do?  Well,  you  know  your  own  business 
best.  That  man  will  be  waiting  on  my  doorstep 
by  and  by,  and  he'll  have  to  wait  patiently.  Think 
it  over  when  you're  tossing  us  both  in  the  blanket. 
He's  a  back  number;  I'm  a  dozen  editions." 

Etta  was  seriously  tempted  to  smile  at  this 
frightened  earnestness  and  at  the  great  man's 
idea  of  her  shrewdness.  She  could  not  forget, 
however,  that  he  had  given  her  the  opportunity 
she  had  so  greatly  longed  for  to  put  the  dreams 
of  her  girlhood  to  the  proof.  And  for  that  she 
would  remain  lastingly  grateful. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Izard,"  she  said,  "  I  fear  you 


58 

don't  understand  me  at  all.  Who  Mr.  Belinger 
may  be  I  don't  know;  but  he  certainly  has  not 
made  me  any  offers.  And  just  as  certainly  should 
I  refuse  them  if  he  did  so.  You  have  been  gen- 
erous enough  to  give  me  my  chance.  If  I  remain 
on  the  stage,  it  will  be  with  you." 

Izard  opened  his  dull  eyes  very  wide. 

"  If  you  remain  upon  the  stage!  Good  God, 
you  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  have  any  doubt 
of  it?  " 

11  I  have  every  doubt." 

"  Have  you  read  the  papers'?  " 

"  Oh,  but  you  told  me  not  to  pay  any  attention 
to  them " 

"  That's  from  the  front  of  the  house  point  of 
view.  Don't  you  know  that  they  say  you  are  as 
great  as  Eejane?  ' 

11  I  cannot  possibly  believe  that." 

"  It  won't  be  so  difficult  when  you  try.  Go 
home  and  read  them  again  and  come  to  me  to- 
morrow morning  to  sign  agreements. ' ' 

He  was  pleased  at  her  promise  to  continue  at 
his  theatre  and  clever  enough  to  understand  her 
reticence. 

"  She's  a  genius,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  and 
she's  more  than  that,  she's  a  woman  of  business. 
Well,  I  like  her  sort.  When  Belinger  goes  round, 
he'll  get  some  dry  bread.  As  for  her  leaving  the 
stage — pooh!  she  couldn't  do  it." 

Had  he  known  what  Etta  was  saying  at  that 
very  moment,  his  self-satisfaction  assuredly 
had  been  less.  For  when  she  returned  to  her 
rooms  in  Bedford  Square  she  found  the  expected 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  59 

letter  from  her  father  awaiting  her  there  and  in. 
it  she  read  these  words :  '  *  I  shall  be  returning  to 
England  on  the  29th  of  June." 

She  had  a  short  month,  then,  to  live  this  Bo- 
hemian life  which  so  fascinated  her!  And  when 
that  month  was  over  Etta  Romney  would  cease 
to  be,  and  the  stately  Lady  Evelyn  must  return. 


CHAPTER  VI 

STBANGEKS   IN  THE   HOUSE 

THE  news  in  the  letter  alarmed  Etta  not  a 
little;  but  when  she  reflected  upon  it,  she  remem- 
bered that  it  was  just  such  news  as  she  had  been 
expecting  all  along.  Her  adventure  had  been  for 
a  day.  She  had  never  hoped  that  it  would  be  more. 
The  desire  to  appear  upon  the  stage  of  a  theatre 
had  haunted  her  since  her  childhood.  Now  she 
had  gratified  it.  Why,  then,  should  she  complain? 

True,  the  glamour  of  the  stage  no  longer  de- 
ceived her.  All  the  gilt  edge  of  her  dreams  had 
vanished  at  rehearsal.  She  no  longer  believed 
the  theatre  to  be  a  paradise  on  earth.  It  was  a 
somewhat  gloomy,  business-like,  and  sordid  arena 
of  which  the  excitements  were  purely  personal, 
and  concerned  chiefly  with  individual  success  and 
achievement.  These  she  had  now  experienced  and 
found  them  unsatisfying.  A  morbid  craving  for 
something  she  could  not  express  or  define  re- 
mained her  legacy.  The  ' '  Etta  ' '  in  her  had  not 
been  blotted  out  by  triumph.  Had  she  known  it, 
she  would  have  understood  that  nothing  but 
tragedy  would  efface  it. 

This,  naturally,  she  did  not  know.  Believing  her 
time  to  be  brief,  she  desired  to  see  as  much  of 
Bohemia  as  the  numbered  weeks  would  permit; 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  61 

and  she  refused  no  invitation,  however  imprudent 
it  seemed,  nor  denied  herself  any  experience  by 
which  her  knowledge  might  profit.  A  perfect  mis- 
tress of  herself,  she  did  not  fear  whatever  adven- 
ture might  bring  her.  Her  desire  had  been  to  do 
exactly  what  the  ordinary  stage  girl  did — to  live 
in  lodgings,  to  tramp  about  the  London  streets,  to 
spend  little  sums  of  money  as  though  they  had 
been  riches,  to  give  a  girlish  vanity  free  rein. 
Sometimes  she  almost  wished  that  a  man  would 
make  love  to  her.  The  homage  of  men,  she  had 
read,  always  attended  success  upon  the  stage. 
Etta  would  have  been  delighted  to  evade  her  pur- 
suers, to  see  their  flowers  upon  her  table,  to  read 
their  ridiculous  letters. 

For  the  moment,  however,  her  dramatic  ex- 
periences appeared  likely  to  be  somewhat  prosaic. 
She  had  answered  Mr.  Charles  Izard  with  the 
intimation  that  she  would  give  him  a  definite  reply 
within  a  week,  and  with  that,  perforce,  he  had 
to  be  content.  The  early  promise  of  success  for 
"  Haddon  Hall  "  was  amply  justified.  The  busi- 
ness done  at  the  Carlton  Theatre  proved  beyond 
experience.  There  Were  two  matinees  a  week,  and 
splendid  houses  to  boot.  Etta  delighted  in  the 
triumphs  of  these  more  than  words  could  tell. 
The  thunderous  applause,  the  ringing  cheers,  the 
frequent  calls,  animated  her  whole  being  and 
awoke  in  her  the  finest  instincts  of  her  inheritance. 
She  knew  that  she  had  been  born  an  actress,  and 
that  nothing  would  change  her  destiny.  All  the 
frivolous  life  of  the  theatre  could  show  her  made 
their  instant  appeal  to  her  senses  and  were  en- 


62  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

joyed  with  a  child's  zest.  Her  gestures  were  quick 
and  excited,  and,  as  little  Dulcie  Holmes  would 
say,  "  so  French."  She  could  behave  like  a 
schoolgirl  sometimes — a  schoolgirl  freed  from 
bondage  and  ready  for  any  tomboy's  play. 

This  was  her  mood  on  the  afternoon  of  the 
seventh  day  after  the  first  production  of  ' '  Haddon 
Hall  "  at  the  Carlton  Theatre.  The  exceedingly 
"  genteel  "  Lucy  Grey  had  invited  a  few  friends 
to  tea  upon  that  occasion ;  and  an  artist,  known  to 
all  the  halfpenny  comic  papers  as  "  Billy,"  a 
lodger  in  the  same  house  as  Lucy,  kindly  put  his 
studio  at  the  disposal  of  the  company.  Here  for 
a  time  gentility  reigned  supreme  over  the  tea- 
cups. The  theatrical  ladies  found  themselves 
awe-struck  in  the  presence  of  Etta  Eomney,  and 
remained  so  until  the  amiable  painter  volunteered 
to  do  a  cake-walk  if  Dulcie  Holmes  would  accom- 
pany him.  This  set  the  ball  rolling ;  and  although 
gentility  suffered  a  snub  when  a  lady  from  the 
Vaudeville  remarked  that  she  always  "  gorged  ': 
currant  loaves,  nevertheless  merriment  prevailed 
and  some  striking  performances  were  achieved. 
Etta  had  not  laughed  so  much  since  she  left  the 
convent  school — and  she  could  not  help  reflecting, 
as  she  returned  to  Bedford  Square,  upon  the  vast 
capacity  for  innocent  enjoyment  these  merry  girls 
possessed  and  the  compensations  it  afforded  them 
in  lives  which  were  by  no  means  without  their 
troubles. 

It  was  a  quarter  to  six  when  she  reached  her 
lodgings.  She  had  time  upon  her  hands,  for  seven 
o  'clock  would  be  quite  early  enough  to  set  out  for 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  63 

the  theatre.  The  weather  promised  to  become  a 
little  overcast  as  she  stood  upon  her  doorstep; 
and  she  was  conscious  of  that  sudden  depression 
with  which  an  approaching  storm  will  often  afflict 
nervous  and  highly  sensitive  people.  Opening  the 
front  door  slowly,  with  her  eyes  still  watching  the 
creeping  clouds  above,  she  became  aware  that 
there  were  strangers  in  the  hall  beyond,  and  she 
stood  for  an -instant  to  hear  rapid  words  in  the 
German  tongue — a  language  her  father  had  al- 
ways advised  her  to  study  and  had  insisted  upon 
the  good  nuns  teaching  her.  To-night  it  served 
her  well,  for  by  it  she  became  aware  instantly 
that  the  strangers  were  speaking  of  her — indeed, 
that  they  awaited  her  coming. 

"  Go  into  the  room,"  said  a  voice.    "  I  must 
be  alone  here." 

Another  said,  '  *  Hush,  that 's  her  step !  ' ' 
Etta  turned  as  pale  as  the  marguerites  in  the 
flower  boxes  when  she  heard  these  words ;  though, 
for  the  life  of  her,  she  could  not  say  why  she  was 
alarmed.  Perhaps  the  constant  fear  of  discovery 
which  had  attended  her  escapade  from  the  begin- 
ning asserted  itself  at  the  moment  to  say  that  these 
strangers  knew  the  truth  and  had  come  to  profit 
by  it.  If  this  were  so,  the  idea  passed  instantly 
to  give  place  to  that  more  sober  voice  of  reason 
which  asked,  ' '  How  should  a  stranger  know  of  it, 
and  what  is  my  secret  to  him?  '  Such  an  argu- 
ment immediately  reassured  her;  and,  entering 
the  hall  boldly,  she  found  herself  face  to  face  with 
no  other  than  the  Roumanian,  Count  Odin,  who 


64  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

had  been  presented  to  her  eight  days  ago  at  the 
Carlton  Hotel. 

Now,  here  was  the  last  man  in  all  London  whom 
Etta  had  expected  to  see  in  Bedford  Square,  and 
her  astonishment  and  distaste  were  so  plainly  vis- 
ible in  her  wide-open  eyes  that  the  victim  of 
them  could  not  possibly  remain  under  any  delu- 
sion whatever.  Plainly,  however,  he  was  quite 
ready  for  such  a  welcome  as  she  intended  to  give 
him,  for  he  barred  her  passage  up  the  hall  and, 
holding  out  his  hand,  greeted  her  with  that  ac- 
cepted familiarity  so  characteristic  of  the  idlers 
who  lounge  about  stage-doors. 

11  My  dear  lady,"  he  said,  "  do  not  put  the  dis- 
pleasure upon  me.  I  come  here  because  my 
friend,  Mr.  Izard,  recommend  me  when  I  ask  him 
where  I  shall  find  a  lodging.  '  Miss  Komney  is  at 
Bedford  Square,'  that's  what  he  says;  '  go  right 
there  and  you  will  find  an  apartment  in  the  same 
street.'  Now,  isn't  it  wonderful?  I  arrive  at 
your  house  by  accident  and  here  is  your  landlady 
who  has  the  dining-room  to  let.  You  shall  forgive 
me  for  that  when  I  say  that  my  friend,  Horowitz, 
is  with  me  and  his  sister.  Why,  Miss  Eomney, 
we'll  be  just  a  happy  family  together;  and  that's 
what  Charles  Izard  was  thinking  of  when  he  sent 
me  here.  '  Tell  her  I  wish  it,'  he  said;  '  she's  too 
much  alone  in  London,  and  it  doesn't  do- 
Etta  interrupted  him  with  a  dignity  he  had  not 
looked  for. 

"  Mr.  Izard  would  not  be  so  impertinent,"  she 
exclaimed  hotly.  "  Your  coming  or  going  really 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  65 

does  not  interest  me,  Count.  I  have  to  be  at  the 
theatre  immediately.  Please  let  me  pass !  ' 

She  tried  to  go  by,  but  he  still  forbade  her,  smil- 
ing the  while  and  seemingly  quite  sure  of  himself. 

"  My  dear  lady,"  he  said,  "  you  do  not  go  to 
the  theatre  until  half-past  seven.  This  amiable 
person  of  the  house  has  told  me  as  much.  If  I  am 
rude,  forgive  me.  I  wish  to  ask  you  to  see  my 
pictures  of  Eoumania,  a  country  your  father  once 
knew  very  well,  Miss  Bomney,  though  he  has 
not  been  there  for  many  years.  Say  that  you 
will  come  and  see  them  to-morrow  and  I  will  ask 
Mademoiselle  Carlotta  to  help  me  to  show  them  to 
you.  Now,  dear  lady,  will  you  not  name  the  hour? 
I  shall  have  much  to  show  you,  much  for  you  to 
tell  your  amiable  father  about  when  you  see  him 
again. ' ' 

Etta  shivered  as  though  with  cold.  Never  be- 
fore had  she  known  such  a  curious  spell  of  help- 
lessness as  this  man  seemed  able  to  cast  upon  her. 
The  words  which  he  spoke  amazed  her  beyond  all 
experience.  Roumania !  She  understood  vaguely 
that  her  father  had  lived  dreadful  years  there  so 
long  ago  that  even  he  almost  had  forgotten  them. 
And  this  stranger  could  speak  of  them,  youth  that 
he  was,  as  though  he  held  their  secret.  Had  she 
wished  to  terminate  her  acquaintance  with  him 
then  and  there,  her  woman's  curiosity  would  have 
forbidden  her.  But,  more  than  this,  the  man  him- 
self attracted  her  in  a  way  she  could  not  define — 
attracted  her,  despite  her  early  aversion  from  him 
and  her  sure  knowledge  that  there  must  be  danger 
in  the  acquaintance. 


66  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

"  Do  you  know  iny  father,  Count?  "  she  asked 
presently — in  a  voice  which  could  not  conceal  her 
apprehension. 

"  To  my  family  he  is  well  known,  to  me  not  at 
all, ' '  was  the  frank  reply.  ' '  I  came  to  England  to 
make  my  misfortune  good;  but  now  that  I  come 
your  father  is  not  here,  Miss  Bomney. ' ' 

"  Then  he  was  not  aware  of  your  intended 
visit?  " 

* '  Quite  unaware  of  it. ' ' 

11  You  did  not  write  to  him?  " 

11  How  should  I  write  when  I  do  not  know  the 
house  in  which  he  live  I  ' 

"  Then  why  do  you  say  that  he  is  not  in  Lon- 
don? " 

He  looked  at  her  with  the  triumphant  eyes  of 
a  man  who  puts  a  master  card  upon  the  table. 
.    "I  say  that  he  is  not  in  England  because  you 
are  alone,  Miss  Bomney." 

Etta  bit  her  lips,  but  gave  no  other  expression 
to  her  emotion. 

"  A  compliment  to  my  discretion,"  she  ex- 
claimed with  a  little  laugh;  and  then,  as  though 
serious,  she  said, ' '  You  will  make  me  late  for  the 
theatre  after  all.  Do  please  talk  of  all  this  to- 
morrow. ' ' 

He  drew  aside  instantly. 

'  *  Izard  would  never  forgive  me, ' '  he  said ; ' ;  let 
it  be  to-morrow  as  you  wish — shall  we  say  at 
twelve  o'clock?  " 

"  Oh,  by  all  means,  at  twelve  o'clock  to-mor- 
row," she  rejoined  and  upon  that  she  ran  up  the 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  67 

stairs,  and,  entering  her  own  room,  locked  the 
door  behind  her. 

Who  was  the  man?  How  had  he  come  thus  into 
her  life?  She  was  utterly  unnerved,  amazed,  and 
without  idea.  But  she  knew  that  she  would  go  to 
the  theatre  no  more. 

11  And  what  will  Mr.  Izard  say?  "  she  asked  her- 
self blankly;  "  what  will  they  all  say?  " 

Etta  was  ready  both  to  laugh  and  to  cry  at  that 
moment.  Conflicting  sentiments  found  her  sitting 
upon  her  bed,  a  very  picture  of  irresolution  and 
dismay.  The  deeper  truths  of  the  night  were  not 
as  yet  understood  by  her,  although  the  day  for 
understanding  could  not  be  far  distant. 


CHAPTER  VH 

THE   NONAGENARIAN 

SHE  sat  upon  her  bed  for  a  little  while,  seem- 
ingly without  purpose  or  resolution.  The  black 
muslin  dress  with  the  exquisite  lace  and  suspicion 
of  Cambridge  blue  about  the  neck,  a  dress  in  which 
she  always  went  to  the  theatre,  lay  ready  for  her 
spread  out  upon  the  back  of  a  chair.  She  used  to 
say  that  it  was  the  only  good  dress  she  had 
brought  to  London  with  her.  Her  desire  had  been 
to  deceive  herself  with  the  pretty  supposition  that 
her  own  talent  must  earn  luxuries  or  that  they 
must  not  be  earned  at  all. 

So  her  riches  were  few.  She  could  almost  num- 
ber them  as  she  sat  upon  her  bed,  reflecting  upon 
this  astounding  encounter,  the  threat  of  it,  and 
Its  just  consequences.  When  she  left  Derbyshire 
she  had  no  thought  of  discovery,  nor  imagined  it 
to  be  possible.  Not  a  soul  knew  her  by  sight,  she 
said.  She  had  spent  her  days  in  a  convent  in 
France,  and  after  that  as  a  very  prisoner  in  her 
father 's  house.  Why,  then,  should  she  fear  recog- 
nition? None  the  less  did  recognition  stand  upon 
the  threshold.  This  foreigner  she  believed  to  be  al- 
ready in  possession  of  her  story.  How  he  had 
gained  knowledge  of  it,  and  what  use  he  would 
make  of  it,  she  felt  absolutely  unable  to  say.  Sum- 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  69 

cient  that  a  malign  destiny  had  brought  her  face 
to  face  and  called  her  to  decide  instantly  as  diffi- 
cult an  issue  as  escapade  ever  put  before  a  woman. 

"  He  knows  my  name;  he  knows  my  father," 
she  argued ;  "  if  he  does  not  come  to  our  house,  he 
has  some  good  reason  for  not  doing  so.  In  any 
case,  I  must  not  stop  here.  Oh,  my  dear  Mr. 
Izard,  what  will  you  say  to-night  ?  And  poor  dear 
Di  Vernon,  poor  dear  Di  Vernon,  whoever  will 
take  care  of  her?  ' 

.She  laughed  aloud  at  her  own  thoughts,  and, 
jumping  up  impulsively,  she  gathered  her  things 
together  as  though  for  a  journey,  though  she  had 
not  the  remotest  idea  whither  she  would  go  or  how 
she  would  act.  A  church  clock  striking  the  hour 
of  seven  reminded  her  that  the  hours  were  brief 
and  that  she  must  make  the  best  use  of  them. 
Had  she  been  a  man  she  might  have  remembered 
that  if  this  intruder  knew  her  father's  name,  he 
would  very  quickly  discover  her  father's  house, 
his  rank,  and  the  story  of  his  life.  But  she  was 
not  even  a  woman,  scarcely  more  than  a  school- 
girl, in  fact,  and  terror  of  the  present  became  an. 
immediate  impulse  without  regard  to  the  future. 
She  must  flee  the  house  and  the  mystery  without 
an  instant's  loss  of  time.  Nothing  else  must  count 
against  the  prudence  of  this  course.  All  the  little 
things  she  had  collected  in  London,  the  clothes  she 
had  bought  there,  these  must  be  abandoned.  Etta, 
indeed,  carried  nothing  but  her  light  dust-cloak 
and  her  purse  when  she  left  the  house  at  half -past 
seven. 

"  I  must  write  to  dear  old  Mrs.  Wegg  and  make 


70  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

her  a  present, ' '  she  said ; ' '  she  can  send  my  things 
to  St.  Pancras  Station  to  be  called  for.  If  I  don't 
go  to  the  theatre,  Mary  Jay  will  play  my  part. 
Perhaps  the  poor  girl  will  make  her  fortune.  It's 
an  ill  wind  .  .  .  no,  a  horrid  wind,  and,  oh,  I 
do  wish  it  wonld  blow  me  home  again !  ' 

From  which  it  will  be  seen  that  the  idea  of 
"  home  "  crept  already  into  her  dizzy  head  and 
attracted  her  strangely.  There  is  always  an  after- 
math of  jest,  however  bold  that  jest  may  be.  Etta 
realized  this  dimly,  though  all  the  impressions  of 
the  theatre,  its  glamour  and  its  triumphs,  were 
too  new  to  her  to  permit  of  any  serious  rival. 
She  feared  discovery  simply  for  her  father 's  sake. 
To  him  the  theatre  stood  for  a  very  pit  of  all  that 
,was  most  evil.  He  had,  from  the  days  of  her 
childhood,  dreaded  a  day  which  would  awaken  a 
mother's  instincts  in  Etta  and  tell  him  that  she 
had  inherited  her  mother's  genius  as  an  actress. 
For  such  a  reason,  above  others,  he  made  a  recluse 
of  her.  For  such  a  reason,  loving  her  passionately, 
he  sent  her  to  the  convent  school  and  guarded 
her  almost  as  a  prisoner  of  his  house.  Etta  knew 
that  he  disliked  the  theatre  greatly ;  but  she  never 
had  his  reasons,  and  was  unaware  of  her  dead 
mother's  story.  Had  she  known  it,  this  mad 
escapade  would  never  have  taken  place. 

She  left  the  house  in  Bedford  Square  at  half- 
past  seven  furtively  and  not  a  little  afraid.  She 
had  already  determined  to  keep  her  own  secret, 
and  to  that  intention  she  adhered  resolutely. 
Crossing  the  Square  with  quick  steps,  she  stood 
an  instant  at  the  corner  to  make  sure  that  no  one 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  71 

followed  her.  When  her  suspicions  upon  this 
point  were  at  rest,  she  called  the  first  hansom 
ca'b  she  could  see  and  told  the  man  to  drive  her 
to  St.  Pancras  Station. 

'  *  And  please  to  stop  at  a  telegraph  office  on  the 
way,"  she  said. 

The  journey  had  been  fully  determined  upon 
by  this  time,  and  she  no  longer  found  herself 
irresolute.  It  cost  her  much  to  send  Charles  Izard 
her  farewell  message ;  but  she  did  it  courageously, 
as  one  who  knew  that  it  must  be  done.  How  or 
why  Count  Odin  had  crossed  her  path  she  could 
not  say;  but  her  clever  little  head  grappled  in- 
stantly with  that  turn  of  destiny  and  determined 
to  defeat  it.  None  could  harm  her  in  her  home  in 
Derbyshire,  she  said  .  .  .  and  to  Derbyshire 
she  determined  to  go. 

When  she  entered  the  post-office  and  had  dis- 
patched her  telegrams,  she  felt  as  one  from  whose 
weak  shoulders  a  great  weight  had  been  lifted. 
What  a  dream  it  had  all  been!  The  hopes,  the 
fears,  the  success  of  it.  Her  heart  was  a  little 
heavy  when  she  wrote  down  the  words:  "I  am 
leaving  London  and  shall  not  return — pray,  for- 
give me  and  forget — Etta  Eomney. ' '  There  would 
be  a  sensation  at  the  theatre  to-night,  but  what 
of  it  if  the  walls  of  her  home  were  about  her 
and  the  gates  of  it  had  closed  upon  her  secret. 
She  knew  too  little  of  Count  Odin's  story  that  her 
fears  of  him  should  be  enduring. 

"  He  has  learnt  something  about  me  somewhere 
and  wanted  to  satisfy  his  curiosity, ' '  she  thought ; 
"  perhaps  he  was  going  to  make  love  to  me,"  an 


idea  which  amused  her,  but  did  not  appear  in  quite 
as  repugnant  a  light  as  it  might  have  done.  Some 
whisper  of  personal  vanity  said  that  Count  Odin 
was  a  man  of  the  world  and  an  exceedingly  good- 
looking  one  at  that.  She  began  to  see  that  all  her 
fears  might  be  mere  shadows  of  misunderstanding 
— none  the  less,  she  persisted  in  her  intention  to 
return  to  Derbyshire.  A  sense  of  personal  danger 
had  been  awakened;  she  fled  from  discovery  be- 
fore discovery  could  do  her  mischief. 

There  was  a  train  to  Derby  at  half-past  eight. 
Etta  took  a  seat  in  the  corner  of  a  first-class  com- 
partment, which  an  obliging  guard,  bidding  a 
porter  keep  watch  upon  it,  insisted  upon  reserving 
for  her.  The  porter,  good  fellow,  drove  off  the 
besiegers,  among  whom  were  a  parson  with  brown 
paper  parcels  and  a  fussy  little  man  who  always 
travelled  in  ladies'  carriages  because  he  could 
have  the  windows  up,  to  say  nothing  of  old  maids 
and  their  dogs  and  younger  maids  without  dogs. 
To  these  the  man  of  corduroys  politely  pointed 
out  the  red  bill  upon  the  window;  but  when  a 
cloaked  foreigner,  with  a  hawk's  beak  and  watery 
eyes,  a  man  who  must  have  numbered  at  least 
ninety  years,  persisted  in  an  attempt  to  enter, 
then  was  the  ancient  dragged  back  by  the  flap 
of  his  coat  while  the  magic  words  "  reserved  ' 
were  shouted  in  his  ears. 

"  What  you  say — what — what — "  the  old 
fellow  cried,  exerting  a  surprising  amount  of 
strength  for  a  nonagenarian,  "  not  go  in  here, 
accidents!  " 

1 1  Higher  up,  grandfather, ' '  said  the  merry  por- 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  73 

ter.  "  Saffron  Hill  goes  forward — no  parley 
Inglesh,  eh — well,  that's  not  my  fault,  is  it  ?  ' 

He  took  the  old  fellow  by  the  arm  in  a  kindly 
way  (for  of  the  poor  the  poor  are  ever  the  best 
friends)  and  led  him  to  a  third-class  carriage  at 
the  forward  end  of  the  train. 

"  And  a  wonnerful  strong  old  chap  for  his 
years,  too,  miss,"  he  said  to  Etta  when  he  re- 
turned for  his  shilling;  "  give  me  a  shove  like  a 
young  'un  he  did.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  ain't 
agoing  to  play  in  a  cricket  match  by  the  looks 
of  him.  Did  you  want  to  send  a  telegram,  per- 
haps? A  surprisin'  lot  of  telegrams  I  do  send 
from  the  station.  Mostly  from  gents  wot  has  a 
fency  for  a  'oss.  They  takes  a  number  horf  of 
their  tickets  and  backs  the  first  'un  they  sees  with 
the  same  number  in  the  noospipers.  Not  as  I 
suppose  you've  any  fency  like  that,  miss — though 
young  ladies  nowadays  do  send  telegrams  almost 
as  frequent  as  other  people." 

Etta  laughed  at  this  idea,  but,  a  sudden  re- 
membrance coming  to  her,  she  asked : 

"  What  time  do  we  arrive  at  Derby,  porter?  ' 

11  You  should  arrive  at  a  quarter  to  twelve, 
miss." 

"  A  quarter  to  twelve — oh,  my  poor  little  me, 
whatever  will  you  do  ?  ' 

"  Not  meaning  to  say  that  you've  forgotten  to 
ask  them  to  meet  you,  miss?  " 

"  Meaning  the  very  thing — please  get  me  a 
form,  oh,  lots  of  them.  I  must  wire  to  Griggs. 
Don't  let  the  train  go  until  I've  done  it.  What- 
ever should  I  do  if  no  one  met  me?  " 


?4  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

"I'll  stop  it  if  I  have  to  hold  the  engine  my- 
self. Now,  miss,  you  take  these  'ere.  That's  the 
name  of  a  Spring  'andicap  winner  on  one  of  them 
— you  scrat  it  out  and  write  your  own  telegram. 
We  ain't  agoin'  to  have  you  out  in  the  cornfields 
at  that  time  of  night,  I  know.  Just  write  away 
and  don't  you  flurry  yourself." 

Etta  needed  no  pressing  invitation.  She  wrote 
two  telegrams  as  fast  as  her  eager  fingers  could 
set  down  the  messages — one  to  Fletcher,  the 
coachman  at  the  Hall,  one  to  Griggs,  the  butler, 
who  would  be  the  most  astonished  man  in  all 
Derbyshire  that  night  when  he  read  it.  These  the 
porter  gathered  up  together  with  a  liberal  mone- 
tary provision  to  frank  them,  and  the  train  was 
just  about  to  start  when  who  should  appear  again 
but  the  white-haired  nonagenarian,  grumbling 
and  shuffling  and  plainly  seeking  a  carriage,  de- 
spite the  fact  that  he  had  been  lately  seated  in  it. 

<  <  Why,  here 's  old  nannygoat  broke  out  again, ' ' 
cried  the  astonished  porter,  and  running  after  him 
he  exclaimed:  "  Here,  grandfather,  train  goinr, 
comprenny,  inside  oh,  chucky  walkey — now  then, 
smart,  or  I'm  blowed  if  I  don't  put  you  in  the  lorst 
luggage  horfiss." 

They  bundled  the  old  man  into  a  carriage;  the 
engine  whistled,  the  train  steamed  majestically 
from  the  station. 

"  Good-by,  London!  "  said  Etta,  sinking  back 
upon  the  cushions  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

But  the  far  from  docile  old  gentleman,  who 
had  been  treated  so  unceremoniously,  did  not 
weep  at  all. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  75 

11  She's  going  to  Melbourne  Hall,"  he  kept  re- 
peating with  a  chuckle;  "  if  the  telegrams  mean 
anything,  they  mean  that. ' ' 

By  which  it  is  clear  that  the  old  scoundrel  had 
read  Etta's  messages  which  the  ever-obliging 
porter  carried  to  the  telegraph  office  for  her. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

LADY   EVELYN   EETUKNS 

ME.  GKIGGS,  the  butler  at  Melbourne  Hall,  had 
just  fallen  asleep  after  a  second  glass  of  his 
master's  unimpeachable  port,  when  a  footman 
knocked  softly  upon  the  door  of  his  pantry  and  in- 
formed him  that  he  was  the  proud  owner  of  a 
telegram. 

"  For  you,  sir,  and  the  boy's  a-waitin'  for  a 
hanswer. ' ' 

Mr.  Griggs,  who  had  been  dreaming  of  a  rich 
uncle  in  Australia,  and  of  the  fortune  this  worthy 
had  bequeathed  to  him  (by  which  he  would  set  up 
a  public-house  in  Moretown  and  acquire  a  mas- 
terly reputation),  murmured  softly,  "  No  jugs  in 
the  private  bar,"  and  awoke  immediately  in  that 
state  of  irritable  stupor  which  even  a  moderate 
allowance  (and  Mr.  Griggs'  glasses  were  true 
bumpers)  of  ancient  port  may  provoke. 

"  Whatever  do  you  want,  comin'  creeping  in 
here  like  a  fox  with  the  gout  I  "  he  asked  angrily ; 
'  *  is  the  'ouse  on  fire  or  is  Partigan  took  with  the 
hysterics?  Whatever  is  it,  James?  " 

''It's  a  telegrarf,"  replied  James  loftily; 
"  perhaps  you're  a  little  'ard  of  'earing  after 
port  wine,  Mr.  Griggs.  The  boy's  a-settin'  on 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  77 

the  step  whistlin'  airs.  I'll  tell  him  to  come  in 
if  you  like " 

Griggs  looked  a  little  sheepishly  at  the  bottle 
before  him,  and  prudently  offered  James  a  glass. 

* '  Them  boys  is  born  in  a  hurry  and  that 's  how 
they'll  die,  James.  Just  take  a  mouthful  of  that 
wine.  I'm  sampling  it  for  the  guvner.  This '11 
be  from  him,  no  doubt." 

To  do  the  excellent  man  justice,  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted that  he  had  been  sampling  that  particular 
wine  during  the  last  twenty  years,  and  still  found 
it  necessary  to  continue  his  task  before  he  could 
give  a  definite  opinion.  The  telegram  was  another 
matter.  Mr.  Griggs  read  it  by  the  aid  of  an  im- 
mense pair  of  horn-rimmed  spectacles,  and,  having 
read  it,  he  uttered  that  exclamation  he  was  wont  to 
employ  only  upon  the  very  greatest  occasions. 

' '  God  bless  my  poor  old  gray  hairs  if  her  lady- 
ship ain  't  returning  this  very  evening.  Whatever 
can  have  put  it  into  her  wicked  little  head  to  do 
that  I  Derby  station  at  eleven-forty,  and  Fletcher 
gone  haymaking  to  Matlock.  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  the  beast  had  been  drinking,"  he  added  pom- 
pously. 

James,  the  footman,  admitted  that  it  was  very 
embarrassing. 

"  I've  lived  in  many  families,  Mr.  Griggs,"  he 
said,  "  and  a  deal  of  human  nater  I've  learned. 
But  this  'ere  family  is  wholly  a  Masterpiece.  Your 
good  health,  sir,  and  I'm  sure  I  wish  you 
blessings." 

"  It's  easier  to  wish  'em  than  to  bring  'em," 


78  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

replied  the  philosopher  Griggs.  "  Where's  Par- 
tigan  now  and  what's  she  doing?  " 

"  She's  a-participatin'  in  the  Floral  fete  at  the 
Bath-Dianner  in  a  motor-car  or  something  of  that 
sort.'* 

"  She  went  over  with  Fletcher,  no  doubt. 
That's  how  his  lordship's  interests  are  served  in 
his  absence.  Is  Molly  in  the  'ouse,  James?  ' 

"  She  was  takin'  her  singin'  lesson  from  the 
horganist  of  Moretown  half  an  hour  ago." 

"  Let  her  sing  upstairs  with  the  warmin'  pan, 
and  quick  about  it  too.  I  suppose  the  snuffer's 
not  in?  " 

* '  Gone  to  Derby  to  see  Mr.  Wilson  Barrett  eat 
up  by  lions " 

"  Then  we'll  have  to  send  Williams,  the  groom, 
and  make  a  tale.  Lord,  what  a  'ouse  to  look  after. 
I  feel  sometimes  as  such  responsibulness  will 
break  me  up  into  small  coal,  James.  Just  ring 
that  bell  and  send  Molly  here.  I'll  give  her  a 
singin'  lesson  as  she  won't  soon  forget." 

There  never  was  such  a  ringing  of  bells,  cer- 
tainly never  such  a  scampering  of  overfed  menials 
as  the  next  hour  witnessed  at  the  Manor.  Hither 
and  thither  they  went :  Molly  up  the  stairs  to  look 
out  the  sheets,  Williams,  the  groom,  to  get  the 
single  brougham  ready,  James  to  set  the  boudoir 
straight  ("  with  me  own  'ands  I  done  it,"  he  said 
to  Partigan,  the  lady's  maid,  afterwards,  as 
though  ordinary  he  did  it  with  other  people's 
hands,  which  was  a  true  word),  Griggs  to  put 
away  his  decanter  and  enter  the  kitchen  in  mighty 
splendor.  Not  only  this,  but  stable-boys  upon  bi- 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  79 

cycles  went  flying  off  to  Matlock  and  Derby  to 
bear  the  tidings  to  the  absentees. 

"  Her  ladyship  a-comin'  home,"  said  Partigan 
when  she  heard  it;  "  well,  that  do  beat  the  best!  " 

*  *  I  've  always  said, ' '  Griggs  remarked  to  James, 
when  the  first  moments  of  agitation  had  passed, 
"  I've  always  said  the  Lady  Evelyn  isn't  ordi- 
nary. Just  look  at  the  antics  she'd  be  a-doin' 
by  herself  when  she  thought  no  one  was  lookin' 
at  her  in  the  park.  Carrying  on  like  a  play 
actress,  she  was,  and  me  hidin'  behind  a  tree, 
mortal  feared  of  her  throwin'  of  herself  into  my 
arms  by  mistake.  What  his  lordship  would  say 
if  I  told  him  of  this  'ere,  the  cherubims  above 
us  only  knows,  James. ' ' 

"  You  surely  ain't  goin'  to  tell  him,  Mr. 
Griggs?  " 

Griggs  tapped  his  breast  with  a  heavy  fist  that 
seemed  to  make  a  drum  of  it. 

"  A  lady's  secret — they'd  have  to  cut  it  out 
of  my  bussum,  James." 

"  Then  you  don't  think,  perhaps,  as  she's  been 
staying  with  Miss  Forrester  at  all?  ' 

This,  however,  was  the  beginning  of  a  sugges- 
tion which  the  worthy  Griggs  would  not  tolerate 
at  all  from  one  he  styled  a  menial. 

' '  What  I  think  is  my  own  affair.  Take  my  ad- 
vice and  hold  your  tongue,  James.  When  you  get 
to  my  time  of  life  you'll  know  that  the  less  you 
say  about  the  ladies  the  better  for  your  good 
health.  Go  and  get  the  dining-room  ready.  She'll 
be  in  a  rare  tantrum  when  she  comes  back.  They 
always  are  when  they've  been  up  in  London  en- 


80  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

joyin'  of  theirselves.  His  lordship  himself  is 
good  cayenne  after  a  week  on  the  Continent.  It's 
enough  to  make  a  man  take  to  drink  almost." 

The  reservation  was  wise,  for  certainly  Mr. 
Griggs  had  "  almost  "  taken  to  drink  on  many 
occasions,  stopping  at  the  second  bottle  on  a  benev- 
olent plea  of  moderation.  This  particular  occa- 
sion, however,  was  not  to  prove  one  for  extreme 
remedies  as  subsequent  events  quickly  demon- 
strated. Having  seen  that  all  had  been  prepared, 
both  within  and  without  the  house,  he  composed 
himself  to  a  comfortable  nap  in  his  arm-chair  and 
again  had  begun  to  dream  of  a  rich  uncle  in  Aus- 
tralia (whose  continued  good  health  he  found  most 
provoking),  when  a  loud  ringing  of  bells  and  a 
sound  of  voices  in  the  quadrangle  instantly 
brought  him  to  a  state  of  recollection,  and  he  sat 
bolt  upright  and  stared  wildly  at  the  grand- 
father's clock  in  the  corner  of  his  pantry  as  though 
its  fingers  reproached  his  tardiness. 

* '  A  quarter  to  two  o  'clock.  God  bless  my  poor 
old  head.  It  must  be  her  ladyship.  A  quarter  to 
two  o'clock.  What  would  her  father  say  to  it!  ' 

It  was  her  ladyship,  as  he  said — very  tired, 
very  pale,  strangely  quiet,  and  with  frightened 
eyes,  such  as  neither  Griggs  nor  anyone  in  that 
house  had  looked  upon  before.  Amazed  to  see 
her,  dressed  in  no  way  for  travelling,  carrying  no 
other  luggage  than  the  purse  in  her  hand,  the  old 
butler  simply  stared  as  he  would  have  stared  at 
any  bogey  of  Melbourne  come  suddenly  upon 
him  in  the  witching  hours. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  81 

"  I  welcome  your  ladyship  home,"  he  stam- 
mered, looking  anything  but  a  welcome  from  his 
inquiring  eyes,  and  then,  most  inaptly,  he  con- 
tinued: "  The  trains  is  very  late  for  the  time  of 
year,  I  must  say,  my  lady." 

Lady  Evelyn  merely  said : 

"  Yes,  I  am  dreadfully  late,  Griggs.  Don't  let 
anyone  be  disturbed.  I  could  not  touch  anything 
to-night.  My  luggage  is  to  be  forwarded  from 
London.  Please  see  that  everything  is  locked  up. 
I  am  going  straight  to  my  room,  and  shall  not 
want  anything  at  all." 

Griggs  did  not  really  know  what  to  make  of  it. 

"  She  was  as  white  as  a  sheet,"  he  told  the 
kitchen  afterwards,  "  and  she  asked  me  to  lock 
up  the  'ouse.  Now,  am  I  in  the  'abit  of  leavin' 
the  doors  open  or  do  I  see  'em  shut  regular? 
Mark  my  words,  Partigan,  there's  something 
more  than  her  luggage  she's  left  in  London,  and 
the  sooner  his  lordship  takes  it  out  of  the  cloak- 
room the  better. 

Here  was  something  to  set  the  servants '  hall  by 
the  ears  beyond  possibility  of  discretion.  Will- 
iams, the  groom,  who  had  driven  her  ladyship 
home,  added  an  ingredient  to  the  sauce  of 
their  curiosity  which  proved  appetizing  beyond 
measure. 

"  There  was  a  young  man  at  the  station  wot 
kept  hopping  about  us  just  like  a  'oss  about  a  hay- 
rick," said  he.  "I  could  see  she  didn't  want  to 
take  much  notice  on  him,  but  what  was  I  to  do  ?  If 
he'd  have  opened  his  lips,  I  could  have  given  him 
something  for  hisself.  But  he  didn't  say  nothing 


82  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

to  nobody  and  all  she  says  was, '  Drive  on  at  once, 
Williams,  and  don't  stop  for  anyone.'  Be  sure  I 
made  the  old  'oss  slip  it.  He  come  along  for  all 
the  world  as  though  he  were  riding  to  'ounds  and 
me  in  the  first  flight. ' ' 

Williams,  be  it  observed,  had  not  exaggerated 
at  all.  There  had  been  a  young  man  at  the 
station  and  Lady  Evelyn  had  been  very  frightened 
by  him.  What  is  more  remarkable  is  the  fact  that 
she  was  perfectly  well  aware  of  his  identity  and 
knew  him  beyond  a  shadow  of  doubt  for  the  ap- 
parent nonagenarian  who  had  been  so  persistent 
at  St.  Pancras.  That  white-haired  old  man  and 
the  youth  who  appeared  before  her  suddenly  at 
her  journey's  end  were  certainly  one  and  the 
same  person.  The  only  conclusion  possible  was 
this,  that  she  had  been  watched  closely  in  London 
and  followed  thence. 

"  It  must  be  Count  Odin,"  she  said  to  herself, 
and  upon  this  she  tried  to  .reason  out  a  secret 
of  which  the  key  lay  far  from  her  possession. 
Why  should  the  man  have  been  at  such  pains  to 
follow  her  if  he  knew  her  father's  name,  as  he 
pretended  he  did?  It  never  occurred  to  her 
untrained  mind  that  a  foreigner  recently  arrived 
from  Bukharest  might  be  quite  unaware  of  the 
identity  of  Kobert  Forrester  and  altogether  igno- 
rant of  the  fact  that  he  was  Robert  Forrester  no 
longer,  but  had  become,  by  a  strange  accident  of 
fortune,  the  third  Earl  of  Melbourne,  Baron  Nor- 
ton, and  heaven  and  Burke  know  what  besides. 
Here  had  been  the  Count's  difficulty.  He  had 
searched  every  directory  in  vain  for  the  where- 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  83 

abouts  of  a  man  he  had  now  made  it  his  life's 
purpose  to  discover.  Knowing  scarcely  anyone 
in  London,  and  having  no  particular  desire  to 
declare  his  presence  to  the  Roumanian  charge 
d'affaires,  his  quest  had  been  profitless  until 
chance  brought  him  face  to  face  with  the  Lady 
Evelyn  in  the  Strand.  Instantly  he  had  resolved 
never  to  lose  sight  of  her  until  he  had  discovered 
Robert  Forrester's  house,  and  had  asked  of  him 
that  question  the  answer  to  which  should  tell  him 
if  his  own  father  were  alive  or  dead. 

The  Lady  Evelyn,  upon  her  part,  had  no  share 
of  the  story,  save  that  which  her  own  eyes  and 
the  Count's  brief  words  had  told  her.  He  had 
spoken  in  London  of  her  father,  it  is  true;  but 
there  had  been  no  betrayal  of  a  warm  anxiety  to 
meet  him,  nor  had  he  mentioned  the  name  ex- 
cept as  a  passport  to  Evelyn's  confidence.  The 
fact  that  she  had  been  followed  from  town  to 
Derbyshire  disquieted  her  exceedingly  by  the  very 
pains  which  had  been  taken  to  conceal  it.  No 
longer  could  she  believe  that  Count  Odin  had 
been  fascinated  by  her  acting  and  had  foolishly 
fallen  in  love  with  her.  Something  lay  beyond, 
and  her  clever  brain  divined  it  to  be  a  thing  dan- 
gerous both  to  her  father  and  to  herself. 

So  it  was  not  Etta  Romney  but  my  Lady  Evelyn, 
grave  and  stately,  and  dreadfully  afraid  of  her 
own  secret  and  of  another's,  who  returned  to 
Melbourne  Hall,  and,  declining  the  attentions  of 
her  servants,  went  straight  up  to  her  bedroom, 
but  not  to  sleep.  Whatever  danger  threatened  her 
must  speedily  declare  itself,  she  thought.  It  was 


84  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

even  possible  that  the  morrow  would  bring  it  to 
her  doors. 

And  if  it  came,  her  father  would  know  that  Etta 
Eomney  had  been  "  presented  "  by  Mr.  Charles 
Izard  at  a  London  theatre  and  that  she  was  his 
daughter. 

He  would  never  forgive  her,  she  thought.  It 
might  even  be  that  he  would  call  her  his  daughter 
no  more. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE   THIRD   EAEL   OF    MELBOURNE 

THERE  is  hardly  a  pleasanter  room  in  all  Eng- 
land than  the  old  Chamber  of  the  Tapestries  they 
use  as  a  breakfast  room  at  Melbourne  Hall.  Situ- 
ated in  the  west  wing  of  the  great  quadrangle, 
and  giving  off  immediately  from  the  famous  long 
gallery,  its  tiny  latticed  casements  permit  a  view 
which  reveals  at  once  all  the  cultivated  beauty  of 
the  gardens  and  the  wild  woodland  scenery  of 
the  park  beyond,  in  a  vista  which  never  fails  to 
win  the  admiration  of  the  stranger,  as  it  has  won 
the  love  of  many  generations  who  have  inhabited 
that  historic  mansion. 

It  is  not  a  large  room,  but  it  tells  much  of  the 
story  of  the  house,  its  triumphs,  its  misfortunes, 
and  its  glories.  Here  you  have  the  tune-stained 
arms  of  John,  the  first  baron,  whose  cinquefoil 
azure  upon  a  crimson  banner  had  been  carried 
high  at  Agincourt ;  here  were  the  crosslets  fitchee 
of  the  House  of  Mar,  whose  feminine  representa- 
tive had  come  south  to  wed  the  third  baron  in 
the  days  of  good  King  Hal.  Fair  fingers  had 
worked  these  tapestries  long  ago,  waiting,  per- 
chance, for  news  of  husband  or  lover  whom  the 
wars  had  claimed,  or  fighting  for  a  King  whose 
son  would  laugh  at  their  story  of.  fidelity.  It  had 


36  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

been  my  lady's  bower  then,  and  knights  and 
squires  had  doffed  their  caps  as  they  passed  its 
doors.  To-day  they  gave  it  no  nobler  name  than 
breakfast  room,  and  therein,  at  half-past  eight 
every  morning,  the  Earl  of  Melbourne,  more 
punctual  than  the  clock  itself,  sat  down  to  break- 
fast. 

Now,  here  was  a  man  who  had  been  an  adven- 
turer all  his  life,  a  man  of  the  field,  the  forest,  and 
the  sea ;  a  bluff  bearded  man,  not  unrefined  in  face 
and  feature,  but  utterly  unsuited  by  the  disposi- 
tion of  his  will  to  the  dignity  which  accident  had 
thrust  upon  him,  and  resenting  it  every  hour  that 
he  lived. 

"  What  are  we  but  slaves  of  our  birth?  "  he 
would  ask  his  daughter  passionately.  '  *  Why  am 
I  cooped  up  in  this  old  house  when  I  might  be  on 
the  deck  of  a  good  ship  or  under  canvas  in  the 
Alleghany  Mountains?  You  say  that  nothing  for- 
bids my  doing  it.  You  know  it  isn't  true.  '±ne 
world  would  cry  out  on  me  if  I  cut  myself  adrift. 
And  you  yourself  would  be  the  first  to  complain 
of  it.  We  owe  it  to  society,  Evelyn,  to  make  our- 
selves miserable  for  the  rest  of  our  lives.  They 
call  it  '  station  '  in  the  prayer-book,  but  the  man 
who  wrote  that  had  never  shot  big  game  on  the 
Zambesi  or  he  'd  have  sung  to  a  different  tune. ' ' 

Sometimes  when  Evelyn  protested  that  society 
would  really  remain  indifferent  whatever  they 
did,  he  would  reply,  a  little  brutally,  that  when 
she  had  found  a  husband  it  would  be  another 
matter. 

' '  There  will  be  two  of  you  then  to  stand  for  the 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  87 

cinquef  oil, ' '  he  observed  cynically.  '  *  I  shall  shake 
the  handcuffs  off  and  get  back  to  the  East.  A 
man  lives  in  the  sunshine.  Here  he  scarcely  vege- 
tates. When  they  inquire,  in  ten  years'  time, 
where  the  Earl  of  Melbourne  is,  you'll  send  them 
to  the  Himalayas  to  begin  with,  and  there  they 
can  ask  again.  Don't  lose  time  about  it,  Evelyn. 
You  know  that  young  John  Hall  is  head  over  ears 
in  love  with  you." 

Evelyn's  face  would  flush  at  this;  and  there 
had  been  an  occasion  when  she  answered  him  with 
the  amazing  intimation  that  she  would  sooner 
marry  Williams,  the  groom,  than  the  young  baro- 
net he  spoke  of.  This  frightened  the  old  Earl  ex- 
ceedingly. 

"  Her  mother's  blood  runs  in  her  veins,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "  By  heaven,  she'd  marry  a 
stable-boy  if  I  thwarted  her." 

Here  was  the  spectre  which  haunted  him  con- 
tinually. He  feared  to  read  the  story  of  his 
own  youth  and  marriage  in  the  youth  and  mar- 
riage of  his  daughter.  Notwithstanding  his  jests, 
his  love  for  her  was  passionate  and  dominated 
every  other  instinct  of  his  life.  "  You  are  all 
that  I  have  in  the  world,  my  little  Evelyn,"  he 
would  confess  in  gentler  moods.  He  desired  her 
affection  in  like  measure,  but  had  never  wholly 
won  it.  Perhaps  instinctively  she  understood  that 
some  barrier  of  the  past  interposed  itself  between 
them.  Her  father's  defects  of  character  could  not 
be  absolutely  hidden  from  her.  She  feared  she 
knew  not  what. 

And  if  this  were  her  normal  mood,  what  of  the 


88  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

Evelyn  who  had  gone  to  London  at  the  bidding  of 
a  mad  desire;  who  had  become  Etta  Romney 
there ;  who  had  returned  at  the  dead  of  night  and 
awaited  her  father 's  home-coming  with  that  trem- 
ulous expectation  which  at  once  could  dread  ex- 
posure and  yet  delight  in  the  peril  of  it?  When 
her  first  alarm  had  passed  and  quiet  days  had 
led  her  to  believe  that  she  dreamed  the  story  of 
espionage,  Evelyn  could  await  the  issue  with  no 
little  confidence.  After  all,  why  should  Count 
Odin  betray  her,  even  if  he  had  her  secret?  He 
was  a  man  of  the  world  and  had  nothing  to  gain 
by  dealing  treacherously  with  a  woman.  Her 
father  went  to  London  so  rarely  that  she  might 
well  deride  the  danger  of  his  visits.  Nothing  but 
a  clumsy  accident  could  write  that  story  so  that 
the  Earl  might  read  it,  she  thought.  And  so  she 
welcomed  him  home  with  all  her  habitual  com- 
posure, and  upon  the  morning  of  the  second  day 
of  July  she  found  herself  seated  opposite  to  him 
in  my  lady's  bower,  listening  to  his  stories  of  Italy 
and  his  plans  for  the  summer  and  the  autumn 
months  to  come. 

"  We  ought  to  give  some  parties,  I  suppose," 
he  said ; ' '  the  servants  expect  it,  and  we  must  not 
disappoint  them.  Ask  all  the  people  who  don't 
want  to  come  and  get  rid  of  them  as  quickly  as 
you  can.  I  have  written  to  Colchester  about  the 
yacht  and  we  ought  to  get  her  in  commission  in 
August.  You  always  loved  the  sea,  Evelyn,  and 
this  will  be  a  change  for  you.  We  can  put  into 
Trouville  and  Etretat  and  see  what  the  French- 
women are  wearing.  I  shall  steam  down  to  the 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  89 

Mediterranean  later  on;  but  that  won't  be  until 
December.  We  have  the  birds  to  kill  first  and 
plenty  of  them.  Of  course,  I  know  you  wanted 
to  be  in  London  this  Spring,  and  it  is  not  my  fault 
if  you  did  not  go.  This  copper  mine  in  Tuscany  is 
going  to  make  me  as  rich  as  Vanderbilt.  I  could 
not  neglect  it  just  because  a  lot  of  fools  were  driv- 
ing mail  phaetons  in  Bond  Street." 

Evelyn  smiled  a  little  coldly. 

"  Men  do  not  drive  mail  phaetons  nowadays," 
she  said,  "  they  drive  motor-cars.  Of  course,  it 
is  very  necessary  for  us  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the 
door — we  are  so  poor,  father." 

The  Earl  had  grown  accustomed  to  remarks 
such  as  these,  and  had  become  skilful  in  evading 
them.  He  understood  perfectly  well  that  Evelyn 
expressed  her  own  disappointment  and  that  she 
meant  to  remind  him  of  his  broken  promises  to 
take  a  house  in  Mayfair  for  the  season  and  to 
sacrifice  his  own  pleasures  at  least  for  a  few  brief 
weeks. 

"  I  am  poor  enough,"  he  said,  "  to  want  all 
the  money  I  can  get.  This  old  place  costs  a  for- 
tune to  keep  up.  I  mean  to  do  big  things  here 
by  and  by,  and  twenty  thousand  won't  be  too 
much  when  they  are  done.  Besides,  it  is  not 
money  that  we  men  run  after,  but  the  gratification 
of  our  own  vanity  in  getting  it.  The  claims  on  this 
estate  are  heavy  and  they  have  to  be  met  quickly 
if  it  is  to  be  cleared.  I  backed  my  own  opinion 
about  this  mine  against  the  biggest  house  in  Ger- 
many and  I  am  coming  out  top  all  the  time. 
If  it  put  fifty  thousand  a  year  into  my  pocket^ 


90  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

who'll  benefit  by  it  but  you?  Think  of  that  when 
you  talk  about  the  little  crowd  of  paupers  you 
want  to  see  in  London.  Money's  money.  And 
precious  glad  some  of  them  would  be  to  see  the 
color  of  it." 

Evelyn  did  not  contradict  him.  She  was  too 
weary  of  the  subject  to  wish  to  revive  it.  Imitat- 
ing others,  whose  youth  had  been  one  of 
far  from  splendid  poverty,  the  Earl  permitted 
money  to  become  the  guiding  principle  of  his 
life  in  the  exact  ratio  of  its  acquisition.  An  ex- 
ceedingly rich  man  when  he  inherited  the  bank- 
rupt estates  of  the  Melbournes,  each  year  found  a 
waning  of  his  natural  generosity,  a  growth  of 
unaccustomed  meanness,  and  a  diligence  in  the 
quest  of  fortune  which  the  circumstances  made 
almost  pathetic.  On  her  part,  Evelyn  was  per- 
fectly well  aware  that  he  would  give  no  parties 
at  the  Hall  this  year,  would  not  take  her  to  Trou- 
ville,  nor  visit  the  Mediterranean  in  the  winter. 
Each  season  found  its  own  excuses  for  delay.  The 
wretched  mine  in  Tuscany  was  a  very  godsend 
when  postponements  of  any  kind  troubled  the 
Earl  for  a  good  excuse. 

11  I  am  glad  you  are  going  to  do  something  to 
the  Hall, ' '  she  said  evasively ;  * '  at  least  there  will 
be  the  painters'  society  to  enjoy.  After  that  I 
suppose  I  may  go  to  Dieppe,  as  Aunt  Anne  wishes. 
It  will  be  quite  a  dissipation — under  the  circum- 
stances." 

He  looked  at  her  rather  sharply. 

"  So  you  went  to  London  after  all?  "  he  said. 
"  I  thought  you  meant  to  put  it  off  I  " 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  91 

*  *  To  put  it  off !  That  would  have  been  a  famil- 
iar task.  I  live  to  put  things  off.  There  is  no  one 
in  all  Derbyshire  who  has  so  many  excuses  to 
make  as  I  have." 

1 '  My  dear  Evelyn,  you  know  perfectly  well  why 
I  dislike  all  this  kind  of  thing. ' ' 

"  Indeed,  I  know  nothing,  except  that  you  dis- 
like it.  This  is  the  third  year  that  you  promised 
to  take  me  to  London  and  have  disappointed  me. 
If  there  is  any  reason  that  keeps  us  prisoners 
when  others  are  free,  would  you  not  wish  me  to 
know  of  it?  I  am  your  daughter,  and  surely, 
father,  you  can  speak  to  me  of  this." 

11  My  dear  little  Evelyn,"  he  said,  hiding  his 
embarrassment  as  well  as  might  be, ' '  you  are  talk- 
ing the  greatest  nonsense  in  the  world.  If  you 
want  to  go  to  London,  you  shall  go  to-morrow. 
Take  a  house,  a  flat,  an  hotel,  anything  you  like — 
only  don't  ask  me  to  go  with  you.  I  am  past  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  A  city  stifles  me;  the  fools 
I  find  in  it  make  me  angry.  If  you  like  them,  go 
and  see  them.  I  have  been  alone  enough  in  my 
life  not  to  mind  very  much  being  alone  again. ' ' 

This  quasi-appeal  to  her  pity  was  his  invariable 
argument.  He  would  havejbeen  embarrassed  had 
she  accepted  his  proposals ;  but  he  knew  full  well 
that  she  would  not  accept  them.  And  so  he  made 
them  with  a  generosity  which  cost  him  nothing 
but  a  momentary  tremor  of  doubt  lest  her  answer 
should  disappoint  him. 

11  Oh,"  she  said,  rising  from  the  table  and  going 
to  the  window  to  look  across  the  park,  "  I  am 
satiated  with  gayety — and  Aunt  Anne  is  a  very 


92  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

paragon  of  giddiness.  We  went  to  bed  every 
night  at  half -past  nine  and  got  up  at  six;  and, 
of  course.  Eichmond  is  quite  Mayfair  when  you 
learn  to  know  it. ' ' 

The  Earl,  rising  also,  would  have  laughed  it 
off,  despite  the  ridiculous  nature  of  the  effort. 

"  Poor  old  Anne  is  not  as  young  as  she  was," 
he  exclaimed  lightly.  ' '  I  dare  say  you  found  her 
a  little  tiresome.  Well,  I  suppose  you  came  home 
when  you  were  tired  of  it?  " 

1 '  Yes, ' '  said  Evelyn,  without  turning  round, ' '  I 
came  home  when  I  was  tired  of  it." 

He  could  not  see  the  deep  blush  upon  her  cheeks, 
nor  would  he  have  understood  it  had  he  done  so. 
Indeed,  she  was  truthful  so  far  as  the  letter  of 
the  truth  went.  A  visit  to  Richmond  had  been 
the  excuse  which  carried  her  from  Melbourne  Hall. 
Three  dreary  days  she  had  spent  in  a  prim  house 
overlooking  the  Thames.  The  home  of  the  skit- 
tish Aunt  Anne,  whose  sixty  years  did  not  forbid 
her  still  to  look  out,  like  Sister  Mary,  for  an 
heroic  "  Him  "  upon  her  horizon.  From  Eich- 
mond, Evelyn  had  gone  to  the  Carlton  Theatre; 
and  now,  for  an  instant,  even  here  in  her  own 
home,  the  Etta  Eomney  could  return  to  delight  in 
her  adventure. 

What  a  sensation  had  attended  her  disappear- 
ance from  London?  Safely  guarded  in  her  jewel- 
case  upstairs  were  cuttings  from  the  newspapers 
of  the  days  succeeding  that  mad  flight.  Be  sure 
that  the  great  Charles  Izard  made  the  most  of 
his  misfortune.  He  had  believed  that  Etta  Eom- 
ney left  him  at  the  bidding  of  caprice  and  at  the 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  93 

voice  of  caprice  would  return  to  him  again.  His 
shrewd  mind  instantly  perceived  that  the  truth 
would  best  serve  him  on  this  occasion ;  and  though 
he  was  not  on  very  good  terms  with  truth,  the 
quarrel  was  soon  patched  up.  To  all  the  reporters 
he  told  the  full  story*  of  this  captivating  romance. 

"  The  girl  came  to  me  from  nowhere,"  he  said 
frankly,  "  and  where  she  has  gone  God  knows. 
I  gave  her  a  hearing  because  she  wrote  me  the 
cleverest  letter  I  have  read  for  many  a  long  day. 
Her  home  was  in  Derbyshire,  and  this  was  a 
Derbyshire  play.  I  saw  her  act  one  scene  in  my 
theatre  and  said  that  she  was  *  bully. '  She  had  the 
best  send  off  I  can  remember.  Then  comes  the 
night  when  I  am  strung  up  on  my  own  hook.  She 
expresses  her  trunks  and  quits.  About  that  I 
know  as  much  as  you  do.  Her  traps  were  left  at 
St.  Pancras  station,  and  a  letter  says  that  she 
has  given  up  the  theatre.  Well,  I  don't  believe  it. 
A  girl  who  can  act  like  that  will  never  give  up 
the  theatre.  In  one  month  or  six  she'll  be 
starring  in  my  plays.  She  cannot  help  herself; 
she's  got  to  do  it." 

Nothing  whets  the  public's  appetite  so  surely 
as  curiosity;  and  all  London  had  grown  curious 
about  Etta  Eomney.  Discerning  men,  who  had 
but  half-praised  her  when  she  first  appeared,  has- 
tened to  declare  that  her  loss  was  irreparable. 
Less  responsible  journals  gave  coherent  accounts 
of  the  whole  business,  written  in  the  back  office 
by  gentlemen  who  knew  nothing  whatever  about  it. 
The  affair, at  first  but  a  nine  days'  wonder,  became 
a  standing  headline  when  the  editor  of  a  popular 


94  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

newspaper  boldly  offered  a  hundred  guineas  for 
the  discovery  of  Etta  Bomney's  whereabouts. 

Etta  read  all  about  this  in  the  brief  days  that 
intervened  between  her  own  return  and  her 
father's.  While  the  woman  in  her  rejoiced  at  the 
success  they  spoke  of,  the  child  failed  to  perceive 
the  danger  of  this  undue  publicity  or  to  guard  in 
any  way  against  it.  It  is  true  that  she  had  been 
very  much  alarmed  upon  the  night  she  fled  from 
London;  but  as  the  weeks  went  by  and  neither 
word  nor  message  reached  her  from  Count  Odin, 
or  indeed  from  any  of  the  friends  she  had  made  at 
the  theatre,  a  new  sense  of  security  came  to  her 
and  compelled  her  to  delight  in  what  appeared  to 
be  the  final  success  of  her  escapade.  Surely  now 
her  father  would  remain  in  ignorance  of  it  to  the 
end,  she  argued.  She  believed  that  it  would  be 
so,  though  whether  the  Etta  Romney  within  her 
were  really  dead,  she  did  not  dare  to  say. 

The  spirit  of  her  mad  desire;  the  passionate 
longing  for  liberty  and  triumph  before  the  world ; 
the  knowledge  of  the  rare  gifts  she  possessed  and 
of  the  future  they  might  win  for  her,  were  these 
to  be  forever  shut  behind  the  gates  of  her  silent 
house,  however  beautiful  that  house  might  be? 
She  knew  not.  The  future  alone  could  tell  her 
whither  the  voice  of  her  destiny  would  call  her. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE   ACCIDENT   UPON    THE   KOAD 

WAS  Etta  Eomney  dead  or  would  the  months 
recreate  her? 

Evelyn  believed  that  they  would.  The  intoler- 
able ennui  of  her  life  at  Melbourne  festered  the 
atmosphere  in  which  such  dreams  as  hers  were 
born  and  reared.  She  had  that  in  her  blood  which 
no  make-believe  could  prison.  Had  the  whole 
truth  been  told,  it  would  have  set  her  down  for 
a  gypsy  of  gypsies — a  true  child  of  the  roadside 
and  the  caves.  But  the  truth  was  just  the  one 
thing  her  father  hid  from  her. 

"  I  met  your  mother  at  Vienna,"  he  had  told 
her  once  when  an  illness  had  moved  him  to  that 
affectionate  confidence  which  weakness  is  apt  to 
provoke.  "  She  was  Dora  d'Istran,  the  most  beau- 
tiful woman  in  the  city  and  one  most  run  after. 
You  are  like  her  sometimes,  Evelyn ;  you  have  her 
eyes  and  hair,  and  just  such  a  manner.  She  un- 
derstood me  as  no  one  else  in  the  world  has 
ever  done,  not  even  my  little  daughter.  I  married 
her  in  the  face  of  my  family  and  never  regretted 
the  day.  She  died  when  you  were  eleven  months 
old.  I  live  again  through  that  hour  which  took 
her  from  me  every  day  of  my  life. ' ' 

Here  was  no  weak  confession.    Throughout  his 


96  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

life  this  man  had  been  seeking  a  good  woman's 
love.  Knowing  in  his  heart  that  he  had  done 
things  unworthy  of  it,  he  sought  it  yet  more  ar- 
dently for  that  very  reason.  One  woman,  his  wife, 
had  understood  him  and  given  him  of  her  whole 
soul  generously.  Her  death  left  him  a  vagrant 
once  more.  In  vain  he,  a  miser  to  others,  lavished 
generous  gifts  upon  Evelyn,  his  child.  "  She 
would  love  me  if  she  could, ' '  he  told  himself, l '  but 
there  is  a  chord  in  her  nature  I  cannot  strike." 
A  keen  observer  of  intuitive  faculty  would  have 
said  that  the  man's  nature,  not  the  woman's,  in 
Evelyn  Forrester  forbade  her  to  respond  to  his 
affection. 

Of  this  Evelyn  herself  remained  quite  uncon- 
scious. Fret  as  she  might  against  her  father's 
unjust  and  inexplicable  treatment  of  her,  she 
would  have  resented  hotly  the  suggestion  that  she 
had  not  a  daughter's  love  for  him.  Her  very 
obedience,  she  thought,  must  be  sufficient  witness 
to  that.  Though  he  made  a  prisoner  of  her,  she 
rarely  uttered  a  complaint.  His  varying  moods, 
now  of  doting  affection,  now  of  irritation  and 
temper,  found  her  patient  and  silent.  When  he 
did  a  mean  thing  she  shuddered,  but  rarely  spoke 
of  it,  because  she  knew  that  words  would  not  help 
her.  Her  own  life  had  been  lived  so  far  apart 
from  his.  She  wished  with  all  her  heart  that  it 
had  not  been  so;  but  she  could  not  justly  blame 
herself  for  circumstances  she  was  in  no  way  able 
to  control. 

This  had  been  her  attitude  before  her  great 
escapade  in  London ;  it  remained  her  attitude  upon 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  97 

her  return  to  Derbyshire.  She  met  her  father 
each  morning  at  the  breakfast  table;  dined  with 
him  in  solemn  state  at  night — occasionally  re- 
ceived visits  from  their  neighbors,  and  was  some 
times  the  guest  of  the  vicar  of  the  parish,  a  pleas- 
ant old  Cambridge  Don,  by  name  Harry  Fillimore. 
But  in  the  main  Evelyn  lived  alone,  in  the  wild 
glades  of  the  beautiful  park,  down  by  the  silent 
pool  of  the  river — just  as  she  had  lived  and 
dreamed  in  the  old  days  of  the  longing  for  the 
world,  its  glamour  and  its  glories.  And  now  she 
had  a  great  secret  to  take  to  the  green  woods  with 
her.  Day  by  day,  as  some  sylph  of  the  thickets, 
the  true  Eomany  child  reacted  the  thrilling  scenes 
of  the  brief  weeks  of  triumph  in  London.  Her 
hair  wild  about  her  shoulders,  her  eyes  reflecting 
the  dreams,  she  would  crouch  by  the  river's  bank 
and  play  Narcissus  to  the  reeds. 

"  It  was  I,  Etta  .  .  .  yes,  yes  .  .  .  just 
the  little  Etta  looking  up  from  the  waters — I  went 
to  London — I  played  at  the  theatre — they  said  I 
was  a  success — they  offered  me  money — to  Etta 
Eomney,  just  little  Etta  Bomney.  And  now  it's 
all  over.  Etta  is  dead,  and  Evelyn  has  come  back. 
I  shall  never  go  to  London  again — I  shall  die,  per- 
haps, down  there  among  the  reeds  in  the  river. 
Oh,  if  some  one  only  would  love  me,  some  one  un- 
derstand me.  And  it's  for  ever  in  this  lonely 
place — for  ever — for  ever." 

Such  regrets  were  neither  hysterical  nor  un- 
usual. She  knew  that  there  was  some  great  void 
in  her  life,  some  desire  ungratified,  which  must 
haunt  her  to  the  end;  and  this  knowledge  drove 


98  THE    LADY    EVELYN 

her  day  by  day  along  those  paths  of  solitude  which 
her  father  wished  her  to  tread,  though  never 
would  he  have  confessed  as  much.  His  lavish  gifts 
to  her  scarcely  won  a  word  of  thanks.  When  she 
rode  a  horse,  it  was  madly,  defying  convention, 
helter-skelter  across  the  grass  lands  like  a  Mexi- 
can flying  over  the  prairie.  She  bathed  in  the 
deepest,  most  dangerous  pools ;  went  shooting  but 
shot  little,  because  her  will  revolted  from  the 
purposes  of  slaughter ;  would  picnic  in  the  darkest 
thickets  and  had  even  set  up  a  tent  and  slept  in 
it,  far  from  house  or  cottage,  at  the  height  of  the 
summer  glory. 

11  A  little  madcap,"  the  bland  vicar  said  when 
he  heard  of  it,  "  a  regular  brick  of  a  girl,  though 
who'd  believe  it  when  he  saw  her  at  her  father's 
dinner  table.  Why,  last  night,  sir,  she  sat  in 
the  drawing-room  just  for  all  the  world  a  paragon 
of  propriety  with  ten  generations  of  grand  dames 
to  her  name.  I  didn't  dare  to  take  a  second  glass 
of  port  for  fear  I  should  be  jocular.  And  to-day 
I  saw  her  flying  toward  Derby  in  the  new  car  at 
thirty  miles  an  hour.  Away  went  my  straw  hat 
just  like  a  cricket  ball.  Now,  what  are  you  to 
make  of  a  young  lady  like  that?  ' 

Doctor  Philips,  the  person  addressed  upon  this 
occasion,  confessed  that  you  might  make  many 
things  of  her. 

"  She  could  earn  a  good  living  at  steeplechas- 
ing,  and  I  would  pay  her  five  pounds  a  week  to 
be  my  chauffeur/'  he  said  quite  seriously,  "  and 
please  don't  forget  the  ball  she  drives  at  golf. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN  99 

Why,  vicar,  she'd  give  the  pair  of  us  a  half.  It's 
no  ordinary  woman  could  do  that." 

They  agreed  that  it  could  not  be,  and  having  dis- 
cussed the  Lady  Evelyn  at  great  length  were  about 
to  sit  down  to  lunch  together,  individuals  aware 
of  their  own  humility  in  the  face  of  a  superior  in- 
tellect, when  Williams,  the  groom,  came  flying 
over  from  the  Hall  and  demanded  to  see  the  Doc- 
tor instantly. 

"  There's  bin  a  haccident  on  the  road,  sir,"  he 
cried  breathlessly,  "  please  come  over  at  once — 
the  gentleman's  up  at  the  house  and  the  Earl 
away. ' ' 

The  doctor,  wasting  no  words,  set  out  with  a 
sigh  and  a  backward  glance  at  the  inviting  table. 

The  Vicar  said: 

"  Thank  God — I  thought  that  she  had  come  to 
grief. ' ' 


CHAPTER   XI 

A  EACE   FOR   LITE 

THE  Vicar  declared  that  he  met  Evelyn  upon 
the  road  to  Derby,  *  *  going  like  a  volcano  at  thirty 
miles  an  hour;  "  but  this  was  a  mere  figure  of 
speech,  for  her  little  car,  being  of  no  more  than 
ten  horse-power  could  not  possibly  accomplish 
such  speeds;  nor  would  the  winding  roads  about 
the  Hall  have  permitted  them  to  a  larger  motor. 
A  reckless  driver,  if  recklessness  were  love  of  the 
delight  of  fast  travel,  Evelyn  loved  horses  too 
well  to  frighten  them ;  and  rarely  did  a  coachman 
complain  or  such  wayfarers  as  she  met  upon  her 
journey  do  anything  but  applaud  her.  Indeed, 
Derbyshire  had  no  more  enchanting  picture  than 
that  of  this  dark-haired  girl,  superbly  gowned,  as 
she  sat  at  the  wheel  of  her  crimson  car;  while 
Bates,  the  proud  chauffeur,  gazed  disdainfully, 
from  the  dicky  behind,  upon  all  the  world,  as 
though  to  say,  "  You  can't  beat  her."  And  this 
was  the  more  noble  on  Bates'  part  because  Evelyn 
had  twice  deposited  him  in  the  ditch  since  the  car 
came  home.  "  The  horrid  thing  will  go  round 
the  corners  so  fast  "  had  been  her  lament  after 
these  mishaps.  Bates  added  the  pious  prayer  that 
he  might  go  round  with  the  car  on  the  next  occa- 
sion- 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          101 

Sometimes,  of  course,  it  would  be  Etta  Romney 
who  drove  and  not  my  Lady  Evelyn  at  all.  These 
were  mad,  wild  moods  and  came  mostly  at  twilight 
when  the  gloom  of  day  crept  upon  the  fields  and 
the  sun  went  down  in  crimson  splendor.  Then  the 
wild,  mad  dash  down  tempting  hills  would  scare 
the  loiterers  and  send  the  jogging  laborer  to  the 
shelter  of  the  hedges.  Then  a  cloud  of  dust  envel- 
oped the  flying  car,  and  the  figure  at  the  wheel 
might  have  stood  for  Melpomene  with  vine  leaves 
in  her  hair.  *  *  A  rare  'un  she  be, ' '  the  countrymen 
would  say;  "  went  by  me  like  a  railway  engine, 
dang  'un,  her  did. ' ' 

Evelyn  had  been  into  Derby  on  the  day  the  Vicar 
narrated  the  misfortunes  of  his  straw  hat.  Hav- 
ing done  a  little  shopping,  she  set  out  for  the  Hall 
a  few  minutes  after  the  hour  of  twelve,  by  which 
time  the  day  had  turned  gloriously  fine  with  a 
light  wind  from  the  east  and  a  bank  of  white 
clouds  high  beneath  the  azure,  which  promised 
welcome  interludes  of  shade.  She  had  a  journey 
of  twenty-three  miles  before  her  (for  Melbourne 
Hall  lies  far  from  the  little  town  of  that  name 
and  knows  it  not),  and  leisure  enough  in  which 
to  do  it.  Business,  she  knew  not  of  what  nature, 
had  carried  her  father  to  London  nearly  a  week 
ago.  She  would  be  alone  until  to-morrow,  her  own 
jailer,  she  said  with  a  pout,  the  mistress  of  hours 
by  which  she  could  profit  so  little.  Her  mood, 
indeed,  had  become  one  of  cynical  indifference, 
tempered  by  the  reflection  that  this  was  the  first 
visit  the  Earl  had  paid  to  London  since  her  esca- 
pade. What,  she  asked,  if  a  word  of  that  story 


102          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

came  to  his  ears  even  now?  The  weeks  of  safety 
inspired  a  sense  of  security  which  circumstance 
hardly  justified.  She  paled  and  trembled  when 
she  asked  herself  what  such  a  passionate  man  as 
her  father  would  do  if  the  truth  were  discovered 
by  him. 

Here,  truly,  was  no  impulse  to  the  delights  of 
speed  or  to  that  recklessness  which  the  Vicar 
chided.  Evelyn  drove  slowly,  her  thoughts  va- 
grant and  wayward,  her  attitude  that  of  one  who 
has  not  pleasure  awaiting  her  at  her  journey's  end. 
She  had  traversed  over  twenty  miles  of  the  dis- 
tance and  was  just  looking  out  for  that  well-known 
landmark,  the  spire  of  the  village  church,  when 
a  startled  cry  from  the  usually  phlegmatic  Bates 
aroused  her  attention  and  called  upon  a  self- 
possession  which  rarely  failed  her. 

' '  A  horse  and  carriage — bolting  behind  us,  your 
ladyship — put  her  on  the  fourth — my  God,  he's 
coming  right  on  top  of  us — quick,  your  ladyship 
— a  horse  bolting " 

He  stood  up  in  the  dicky  and  waved  his  arms 
and  continued  to  cry,  "  A  horse  bolting!  "  as 
though  by  repetition  alone  he  would  bring  her  to 
a  sense  of  danger.  Evelyn,  upon  her  part,  cast 
one  startled  glance  behind  her  and  instantly  be- 
came aware  of  the  situation.  For  down  the  road, 
which  sloped  slightly  toward  them,  a  horse  bolted 
madly  in  their  direction,  swinging  a  light 
brougham  from  footpath  to  footpath  and  leaving 
a  dense  cloud  of  dust  to  bear  witness  to  the  speed. 
So  mad  was  the  gallop  that  the  frightened  beast, 
seen  first  at  a  distance  perhaps  of  six  hundred 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          10& 

yards,  was  no  more  than  three  hundred  yards 
from  them  when  Evelyn  opened  the  throttle  of  her 
car  to  the  full  and  sent  it  racing  down  the  incline 
as  it  had  never  raced  before.  Fifteen,  twenty, 
twenty-five  miles  an  hour  the  speed  indicator 
registered,  and  still  the  car  appeared  to  be  gain- 
ing speed.  Behind,  as  though  in  vain  pursuit, 
the  thundering  sound  of  hoofs  waxed  louder ;  and 
once  or  twice  in  the  interludes  of  sounds,  a  man's 
voice  could  be  heard  crying  to  the  horse  and  to 
those  in  the  car  incoherent  words  in  an  unknown 
tongue. 

* '  Let  her  go  for.  God 's  sake,  your  ladyship — let 
her  go — he's  coming  up — keep  to  the  right — don't 
mind  the  corner — we'll  do  it  yet — "  These  and 
many  another  exclamation  fell  from  Bates'  vol- 
canic lips  as  he  clung  to  the  dicky  for  dear  life 
and  tried  to  drive  the  mad  horse  into  the  hedge 
by  the  wild  waving  of  a  spasmodic  arm.  His 
appeal  to  her  to  keep  to  the  right  showed  that  he, 
at  any  rate,  had  not  lost  his  head.  Instinctive 
habit  sent  the  animal  flying  to  the  left-hand  side 
of  the  road  as  he  would  naturally  be  sent  by  any 
coachman.  Though  the  brougham  lurched  wildly, 
the  terrified  horse  returned  to  his  accustomed 
place  again  and  again,  taking  the  corners  in  wide 
sweeps  and  increasing  his  speed  with  his  terror. 
A  great  raw  bony  brute  that  had  been  ridden  to 
hounds  the  previous  winter,  his  gallop  was  that 
of  a  thoroughbred  over  good  grass  lands.  Even  the 
ten  horse-power  car  could  not  keep  its  lead.  Eve- 
lyn knew  that  he  was  overtaking  her.  The  shadow 
of  catastrophe  seemed  to  creep  over  her  very 


104         THE    LADY    EVELYN 

shoulders.    "  Is  he  far  off.  now?  "  she  would  ask 
Bates  despairingly. 

The  answer,  many  times  repeated,  began  to  be 
monotonous. 

"  Keep  to  the  right,  milady — don't  mind  the 
corner — I'll  blow  the  horn  for  you — now  you're 
gaining  a  bit — oh,  that's  fine — let  her  go — we'll 
do  it  yet,  milady." 

Evelyn,  it  may  be,  realized  her  own  peril  less 
than  that  of  those  in  the  brougham.  A  man's  cry, 
whatever  reading  of  character  might  be  placed 
upon  it,  seemed  to  her  an  evidence  of  grave  danger 
and  piteous  fear.  But  for  this,  her  own  courage 
would  have  almost  delighted  in  the  rare  sensa- 
tions of  speed  and  flight  and  all  the  doubt  of  the 
ultimate  issue.  Guiding  her  car  with  a  brave 
hand,  she  was  conscious  of  a  rushing  wind  upon 
her  face ;  of  hedges,  fields,  trees  approaching,  dis- 
appearing, during  that  ominous  race;  of  a  voice 
speaking  to  her;  of  a  question  many  times  re- 
peated—' «  How  will  it  end  1  Will  they  be  killed  ?  ' 
And  yet  the  speed  of  it  both  excited  and  sustained 
her.  She  swung  round  the  corners  as  an  arm 
upon  a  pivot ;  hugged  a  difficult  path  with  the  skill 
of  an  old  mecanicien,  nursed  her  engine  perfectly, 
was  nover  flurried,  never  hesitating,  never  fearful. 
That  which  she  dreaded  was  the  long  incline  lead- 
ing up  to  the  gates  of  Melbourne  Hall.  The  mad 
horse  would  beat  the  car  upon  that,  she  thought. 
The  threatened  thunder  of  his  hoofs  seemed  so 
near  to  her  now.  She  could  hear  the  man's  voice 
plainly,  and  the  tongue  he  spoke  had  a  more  famil- 
iar sound. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          105 

The  moment  was  critical  enough.  A  gentle  hill 
lay  before  her.  She  knew  that  a  horse  galloping 
blindly  would  make  nothing  of  it,  but  that  the 
little  car  must  be  slowed  down  sufficiently  to 
render  escape  out  of  the  question.  Had  there 
been  a  footpath,  she  would  have  mounted  it  and 
dared  the  consequences;  but  of  path  there  was 
none.  A  man  in  her  place  might  have  bethought 
him  of  slacking  speed  gradually  and  blocking  the 
road  to  the  flying  carriage.  But  Bates,  her  chauf- 
feur, had  never  been  upon  a  horse  in  his  life.  He 
thought  only  of  himself  and  the  car. 

"  I  could  feel  his  nose  down  my  back,"  he  told 
the  Servants'  Hall  afterwards — to  which  the  cook 
replied  "  Lor',  Mr.  Bates,  how  you  must  have 
suffered !  ' '  He  admitted  that  he  had  done  so. 

"  She  turned  into  the  field  better  than  Thery 
himself  could  have  done,"  he  declared,  speaking 
of  the  driver  of  the  Gordon  Bennet  car.  "  Just 
when  I  was  asking  myself  who'd  come  in  for  my 
Sunday  clothes,  round  she  goes  like  a  top  and  the 
carriage  went  flying  by  us  at  a  jiffy." 

The  kitchen  listened  in  awe. 

"  I  always  said  as  she  was  a  thoroughbred," 
Williams,  the  groom,  remarked;  and  this  opinion 
appeared  to  be  general. 

Evelyn  had  saved  her  car  just  as  the  excellent 
Bates  described  it.  Losing  ground  steadily  upon 
the  hill,  the  end  of  it  all  seemed  at  hand,  when  she 
espied  the  open  gate  of  a  hay-field  upon  her  right 
hand;  and  taking  her  courage  and  the  wheel  in 
both  her  hands,  she  just  touched  the  car  with  the 
foot-brake  and  then  swung  it  boldly  through  the 


106          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

opening.  A  terrible  lurch,  a  great  bump  over 
wagon-ruts  and  they  were  at  a  standstill  in  grass 
growing  to  the  height  of  their  axles.  The  bolting 
horse  meanwhile  went  by  like  a  shot  from  a  bow, 
straight  up  the  hill  which  leads  to  the  Hall.  A 
turn  of  the  road  hid  him  from  their  sight.  They 
heard  a  loud  crash  and  then  all  was  still. 

Evelyn  sat,  very  pale  and  frightened,  and  trem- 
bling visibly  at  the  thought  of  that  which  must 
have  happened  on  the  hillside  above  them.  The 
engine  of  her  car  had  stopped  as  they  ran  into  the 
field  and  the  imperturbable  Bates  immediately 
leaped  down  from  the  dicky  and  made  a  wild  at- 
tempt to  restart  it. 

1 '  There  wasn  't  a  driver  on  the  box,  milady, ' '  he 
said,  as  though  it  were  the  most  natural  remark 
in  the  world  to  make. 

Evelyn  answered  by  ordering  him,  almost  an- 
grily, to  start  the  engine. 

"  We  must  go  to  them,"  she  said,  her  heart 
beating  fast  as  she  spoke.  "  I  am  sure  there  has 
been  a  dreadful  accident.  Be  quick,  Bates !  Why 
are  you  so  foolish!  Please  start  the  engine  at 
once. ' ' 

' '  I  was  thinking  of  you,  milady, ' '  the  man  said 
a  little  sullenly.  ' '  There  was  two  gents  in  the  car- 
riage. You  mightn't  like  to  see  what  somebody 
will  see  when  they  go  up  there." 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense,"  she  said  firmly.  "  I  am 
not  a  child,  Bates.  You  would  make  a  coward  of 
me.  Let  us  go  at  once !  ' 

Bates  said  no  more  but  started  the  engine  at 
once.  Evelyn  backed  the  car  from  the  field  and 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          107 

drove  slowly  up  the  hill.  She  was  greatly  excited 
and  afraid,  but  her  resolution  to  proceed  re- 
mained unshaken. 

Who  had  been  in  the  carriage?  What  harm  had 
befallen  him  or  them?  The  turn  of  the  road  an- 
swered her  immediately.  For  there,  white  and 
insensible  by  the  side  of  the  shattered  brougham, 
lay  Count  Odin,  the  Roumanian,  and  by  him  there 
knelt  young  Felix  Horowitz,  his  friend,  ready  to 
tell  everyone  that  the  Count  was  dead.  Evelyn, 
however,  knew  that  he  was  not  dead. 

And  tragedy,  she  said,  had  followed  her  even  to 
the  gates  of  Melbourne  Hall. 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE    UNSPOKEN   ACCUSATION 

COUNT  ODIN  had  been  three  days  at  Melbourne 
Hall  when  the  Earl  returned.  For  thirty  hours 
he  did  not  recover  consciousness;  the  second  day 
found  him  restless  and  but  dimly  aware  of  the 
circumstances  of  his  accident ;  the  third  day,  how- 
ever, recorded  such  an  improvement  that,  as  the 
evening  drew  on,  he  sent  the  maid,  Partigan,  to 
my  Lady  Evelyn  begging  that  she  would  come  to. 
him. 

There  had  been  wild  excitement  in  the  house,  to 
be  sure.  Tragedy  is  ever  the  delight  of  the  ser- 
vants' hall;  nor  was  it  less  delightful  because 
memorable  days  were  few  at  the  Manor.  History 
has  recorded  that  Partigan,  the  maid,  shed  tears 
when  she  heard  that  the  young  man  upstairs  was 
a  foreigner  and  exceedingly  handsome.  Mr. 
Griggs,  the  butler,  felt  it  necessary  to  sample 
divers  vintages  of  wine  and  to  ask  repeatedly  what 
the  Earl  would  think  of  it.  The  maids  whispered 
together  in  corners ;  the  grooms  discussed  the  err- 
ing horse  with  straws  protruding  from  the  cor- 
ners of  their  mouths.  To  these  worthies  and  to 
others  the  daily  bulletin,  which  the  shrewd,  side- 
whiskered  Dr.  Philips  delivered  each  morning  as 
he  climbed  into  his  motor-car,  became  as  the 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          109 

tidings  of  a  horse-race  or  of  a  royal  wedding. 
Kumor  had  said  that  the  young  Count  was  dead 
when  they  carried  him  to  the  house.  Dr.  Philips 
declared  that  he  would  have  him  dancing  before 
the  month  was  done. 

"  Fracture,  pshaw!  "  exclaimed  that  knowing 
practitioner ;  * '  they  might  tell  you  that  in  Harley 
Street,  but  in  Derbyshire  we  know  better.  He 
has  a  skull  as  thick  as  a  water-butt.  Con-cuss-ion, 
sir,  that  is  the  matter.  You  may  tell  her  ladyship 
so  with  my  compliments.  Con-cuss-ion  is  what 
Dr.  Philips  says,  and  if  there  is  anyone  who  dis- 
putes his  word,  he'd  like  to  see  the  man." 

They  carried  the  news  to  Evelyn,  who  had 
scarcely  left  her  room  since  this  amazing  adven- 
ture befell  her.  A  brief  account  of  the  accident 
obtained  from  the  lips  of  young  Felix  Horowitz, 
Count  Odin's  friend,  narrated  the  simple  circum- 
stance that  they  had  been  driving  from  Moretown 
to  Melbourne  Hall  and  had  collided  upon  the  way 
with  a  hay-cart,  whose  driver,  as  the  drivers  of 
hay-carts  so  frequently  will,  had  been  taking  his 
siesta  during  the  heat  of  the  day.  Thrown  from 
the  box  into  the  gutter,  the  coachman  dislocated 
his  shoulder  and  had  many  bruises  to  show ;  while 
his  horse,  terrified  at  the  absence  of  control,  in- 
stantly bolted  in  one  of  those  blind  panics  which 
may  overtake  even  the  most  docile  of  animals. 

Such  a  story  Felix  Horowitz  had  told,  but  more 
he  could  not  tell.  Evelyn's  anxious  question  as 
;to  the  purport  of  Count  Odin's  visit  remained 
unanswered.  It  was  possible,  the  youth  said,  that 
the  Count  drove  out  to  see  Lord  Melbourne. 


110          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

"  But  I  should  not  be  surprised,"  he  added 
naively, ' '  if  there  were  a  better  reason  which  you 
must  not  expect  me  to  confess." 

She  was  afraid  to  press  the  point,  nor  dare  she, 
at  present,  invite  the  confidence  of  one  who  was 
so  great  a  stranger  to  her.  Sooner  or  later  it 
would  be  necessary  to  abase  herself  before  this 
man  who  had  thrust  himself  unluckily  into  her 
life  and  made  such  quick  use  of  his  advantages. 
Evelyn  perceived  immediately  that  she  must  go 
to  Count  Odin  and  say, ' '  My  father  does  not  know 
that  I  am  Etta  Bomney.  Please  do  not  tell  him. ' ' 
And  this  was  far  from  being  the  whole  penalty  of 
the  accident.  A  glimmer  of  the  truth  could  come 
to  her  already  as  a  spectre  which  henceforth  must 
haunt  her  life.  She  knew  that  her  father  had 
spent  some  years  in  Boumania,  and  that  nothing 
would  induce  him  to  revisit  that  country  wherein 
he  had  married  Dora  d'Istran.  In  the  same 
breath,  she  told  herself  that  this  man  was  a  Bou- 
manian  and  acquainted  with  her  father's  story. 

Had  she  been  entirely  honest  with  herself  she 
would  have  gone  on  to  admit  a  certain  fascination 
in  the  mystery  which  she  could  neither  account 
for  nor  take  arms  against.  Count  Odin  was  like 
no  other  man  she  had  known.  She  had  tried  to 
deceive  herself  in  London  with  the  imagined  be- 
lief that  she  never  wished  to  see  him  again.  Many 
times,  however,  since  she  had  returned  to  Derby- 
shire this  very  desire  would  assert  itself.  She 
found  herself,  against  her  will  and  reason,  cov- 
ertly hoping  that  she  might  hear  his  story  from 
his  own  lips.  A  psychologist  would  have  held  that 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          111 

there  was  a  certain  affinity  between  the  two,  and 
that  she  had  become  the  victim  of  it  unconsciously. 
Her  fear  was  of  a  splendid  fascination  she  had 
become  aware  of  and  could  not  resist.  She  im- 
agined that  she  would  obey  this  man  if  he  com- 
manded her,  despite  her  resolute  will  and  almost 
eccentric  originality.  And  this  she  feared  even 
more  than  her  own  secret. 

It  is  to  be  imagined  how  the  suspense  of  Count 
Odin 's  illness  tried  nerves  as  high  strung  as  those 
of  Evelyn,  and  with  what  expectation  she 
awaited  the  hour  when  he  would  recover  con- 
sciousness. Her  desire  had  become  that  of  know- 
ing the  worst  as  speedily  as  might  be;  and  the 
worst  she  certainly  would  not  know  until  con- 
sciousness returned  and  some  good  excuse  might 
admit  her  to  the  sick  man's  room.  Hourly,  almost, 
she  asked  the  news  of  Dr.  Philips  and  received  the 
strictly  professional  answer: 

"  An  ordinary  case — no  cause  for  worry  at  all 
— don't  think  about  it." 

To  the  Doctor 's  inquiry  what  she  knew  of  Count 
Odin  she  merely  said  that  she  had  heard  of  him 
in  London  and  believed  that  his  father  had  been 
the  Earl's  friend  many  years  ago.  This  did  not 
in  any  way  disguise  her  unrest,  and  the  Doctor 
would  have  been  more  than  human  had  he  not  put 
his  own  construction  upon  it. 

* '  Head  over  ears  in  love  with  him, ' '  he  told  the 
Vicar  that  night ;  "  why,  sir,  she  would  not  deceive 
a  blind  man.  She's  met  this  fellow  in  London  and 
bagged  him  like  a  wounded  pheasant.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  it  hadn't  been  all  arranged  between 


112          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

them — bolting  horse  and  all.  There  he  is,  in  the 
chaplain's  room,  rambling  away  in  a  tongue  a 
Hottentot  would  be  ashamed  of,  and  she's  waiting 
for  me  always  on  the  stairs  just  ready  to  hug  me 
for  a  good  word.  What  do  you  make  of  it ?  You've 
married  a  few  and  ought  to  be  an  expert. ' ' 

The  Vicar  shook  his  head  at  the  compliment  and 
declared  that  it  would  never  suit  the  Earl. 

'  *  He  hopes  that  she  will  never  marry, ' '  he  said ; 
"  he  has  told  me  so  himself  more  than  once.  If 
she  does  marry,  he  has  great  ambitions.  After 
all/she  may  only  be  naturally  anxious.  I  dare  say 
she's  asking  herself  whether  her  own  car  did  not 
do  some  of  the  mischief. ' ' 

The  Vicar 's  wife,  on  her  part,  declared  the  situ- 
ation to  be  exceedingly  distressing. 

"  There's  no  other  lady  in  the  house,"  she  said 
aghast.  "  I  think  the  Earl  should  be  advised  to 
return.  It  is  so  very  unusual." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Earl  came  home  on  the 
evening  of  the  third  day,  exactly  one  hour  after 
Evelyn  had  been  sent  for  to  see  Count  Odin  for 
the  first  time  since  the  tragedy.  The  meeting  took 
place  at  the  Count's  request,  as  it  has  been  said. 
Eeturning  consciousness  brought  with  it  a  full  re- 
membrance of  the  circumstances  of  the  accident 
and  a  desire  to  thank  his  hostess  for  that  which 
had  been  done.  So  Evelyn  went  to  him,  deter- 
mined to  throw  herself  upon  his  pity.  No  other 
possible  course  lay  before  her. 

Dr.  Philips  was  in  the  room  when  she  entered 
it;  but  his  belief  that  this  was  an  affaire  de  cceur 
remained  obdurate,  and  he  withdrew  into  an  al- 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          113 

cove,  when  the  first  introductions  were  over,  and 
made  a  great  business  there  of  discussing  the 
patient's  condition  with  the  nurse  who  had  come 
over  from  Derby.  Thus  Evelyn  found  her  op- 
portunity to  speak  freely  to  the  young  Count. 
Each  felt,  however,  that  the  need  of  words  be- 
tween them  was  small. 

"  My  dear  lady,"  he  began,  "  how  shall  I  apol- 
ogize for  what  has  happened  to  me  ?  Three  days  in 
your  house  and  not  a  word  of  regret  that  I  intrude 
upon  you.  Ah,  that  clownish  fellow  of  a  coachman 
and  the  other  who  was  asleep  upon  the  imperial. 
"Well,  I  shall  long  remember  your  English  horses, 
and,  dear  lady,  I  am  not  ungrateful  to  them. ' ' 

He  held  out  his  hand  and  Evelyn  could  not  with- 
hold her  own,  which  he  clasped  with  warm  fingers 
as  though  to  draw  her  nearer  still  toward  him. 

"It  is  impossible  to  speak  of  gratitude  under 
such  circumstances, ' '  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  ' '  My 
father  will  approve  of  all  that  has  been  done, 
Count.  He  is  returning  to-night  from  London." 

She  paused  and  looked  round  the  room,  anxious 
that  Dr.  Philips  should  not  hear  her.  The  Count, 
in  his  turn,  smiled  a  little  maliciously  as  though 
fully  aware  of  her  thoughts. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said  again.  "  I  came  to  see 
your  father,  but  I  did  not  know  that  he  was  the 
Earl  of  Melbourne.  Will  you  not  sit  down,  dear 
lady?  You  make  me  unhappy  while  you  stand." 

He  touched  her  hand  again  and  indicated  a  low 
chair  facing  his  bed.  Evelyn,  whose  heart  beat 
quickly,  sat  without  protest.  The  minutes  were 
brief;  she  had  so  much  to  tell  him. 


114          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

11  You  knew  my  father  in  Koumania,  did  you 
not?  "  she  asked  in  a  tone  that  could  not  hide  her 
curiosity.  The  Count  answered  her  with  a  kindly 
smile. 

"  He  was  my  father's  friend,"  he  exclaimed, 
raising  himself  a  little  upon  the  pillow;  "  that 
would  be  more  than  twenty  years  ago.  So  much 
has  happened  since  then,  Lady  Evelyn.  Twenty 
years  in  a  man's  life  and  a  woman's — ah,  if  we 
could  recall  even  a  few  of  them : 

"  Even  the  weeks,"  she  said  meaningly,  "  when 
we  were  not  ourselves,  but  another  whom  we  wish 
to  forget.  Our  friends  can  help  us  to  recall  those 
weeks,  Count." 

Evelyn  had  not  understood  the  difficulty  of  con- 
fession until  this  moment.  Her  visit  to  London 
had  been  so  entirely  of  her  own  planning,  she  had 
locked  the  dreams  of  her  life  so  surely  in  the 
secret  chambers  of  her  heart,  that  this  man  was 
the  first  human  being  with  whom  she  had  shared 
so  much  as  a  single  word  of  them.  Secret  actions 
and  secret  thoughts  alike  shame  us  when  we  speak 
of  them  aloud.  Nothing  but  a  dire  dread  of  dis- 
covery would  have  induced  her  to  face  the  humili- 
ations of  this  avowal  had  it  not  been  that  silence 
must  have  meant  discovery  and  discovery  might 
mean  disaster  beyond  any  she  could  imagine. 
Count  Odin,  a  trained  man  of  the  world,  had  per- 
ception sufficient  to  read  her  story  instantly  and 
to  understand  its  full  significance.  Here  was  a 
woman  who  put  herself  into  his  power  without  a 
single  thought  of  the  consequences.  He  rejoiced 
beyond  words  at  the  circumstance,  but  had  the  wit 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          115 

to  conceal  his  pleasure  when  he  replied  with  an 
apparent  generosity  which  earned  her  gratitude: 

' '  Those  are  the  weeks  when  our  friends  should 
be  blind,  Lady  Evelyn.  I  am  glad  that  you  tell 
me  this.  Frankly,  I,  too,  am  an  artist,  and  can 
understand  your  father's  objection  to  the  theatre. 
Let  us  forget  that  the  most  charming  Etta  Eom- 
ney  has  existed.  She  came  from  nowhere  and  has 
gone  away  as  she  came.  We  shall  be  so  ungallant 
that  we  go  to  forget  her  name  and  the  theatre  and 
all  her  cleverness.  Please  to  speak  no  more  of  it. 
I  am  your  servant,  and  my  memory  is  at  your  com- 
mand. If  we  have  met  in  London,  so  shall  it  be. 
If  we  are  strangers  when  your  father  is  come 
back,  that  also  I  will  be  ready  to  remember.  Com- 
mand my  silence  or  my  words  as  you  think  for 
the  best." 

He  accompanied  the  words  with  a  gesture  which 
would  have  made  light  of  the  whole  affair — as 
though  to  say,  ' '  This  is  a  little  thing,  let  us  speak 
of  something  more  important.  The  act,  however, 
did  not  deceive  Evelyn.  Her  former  distrust  of 
this  man  returned  with  new  force.  She  felt  in- 
stinctively that  she  must  pay  a  price  for  his 
silence;  though  she  knew  not,  nor  could  she  im- 
agine, what  that  price  must  be.  And,  more  than 
this,  she  rebelled  already  against  the  penalties  of 
deception.  The  net  in  whose  meshes  her  daring 
had  caught  her  was  a  net  of  equivocation  which 
must  degrade  while  it  endured. 

"  It  is  for  my  father's  sake,"  she  said  quietly, 
believing  it  at  the  moment  really  to  be  so.  "  He 
knows  little  of  the  theatre  and  dislikes  it  in  con- 


116          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

sequence.  Of  course,  Count,  I  had  no  intention  of 
remaining  in  London.  If  you  have  any  love  for 
the  stage  yourself,  you  will  understand  why  I 
went. ' ' 

"  No  one  so  sympathetically,  dear  lady.  You 
were  born  an  artiste ;  you  will  die  one,  though  you 
never  again  shall  go  upon  the  stage.  Here  is  our 
friend,  Dr.  Philips,  coming  with  the  medicine  to 
make  us  happy.  Is  it  that  we  have  met  in  London 
or  are  we  to  be  strangers  I  Speak  and  I  obey  you, 
now  and  always. ' ' 

"  There  is  no  necessity  to  say  anything  about 
it,"  she  exclaimed,  flushing  as  she  stood  up.  "  I 
do  not  suppose  my  father  will  ask  the  question. 
.Your  visit  to  Derbyshire  was  in  his  interests,  I 
understand,  Count." 

He  turned  a  swift  keen  glance  upon  her — far 
from  a  pleasant  glance. 

*  *  I  came  to  ask  a  question  of  him,  lady.  I  came 
that  he  shall  tell  me  whether  my  own  father  is  a 
free  man  or  a  prisoner.  He  will  not  answer  that 
question  willingly.  But  until  it  is  answered,  I 
remain  the  guest  of  your  house.  Silence,  if  you 
please.  This  also  is  my  secret  and  to-day  is  not 
the  time  to  speak  of  it." 

He  raised  a  hand  warningly  and  Evelyn  turned 
about  to  find  Dr.  Philips  at  her  side.  The  little 
man  seemed  more  amused  than  ever.  His  idea 
that  this  was  a  lover's  meeting,  brought  about  by 
the  laborious  device  of  a  bolting  horse  and  a 
smashed  carriage,  could  not  be  put  aside. 

"  Doing  capitally,  I  perceive,"  he  remarked  in 
that  professional  tone  of  voice  which  no  human 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          117 

ill,  whatever  it  may  be,  appears  able  to  modulate 
or  alter.  "  Out  in  a  bath-chair  to-morrow  and 
steeplechasing  the  next  day.  Well,  well,  if  we 
could  only  put  youth  into  our  bottles,  what  magi- 
cians we  should  be !  Now,  sir,  if  I  had  been  in  the 
carriage,  the  Lady  Evelyn,  here,  would  have  been 
asking  herself  what  she  would  wear  at  the  funeral 
to-morrow.  But  I  am  an  old  man  and  you  are  a 
young  one,  and  there  is  nothing  like  youth  in  all 
the  world." 

"  A  most  excellent  sentiment,"  said  the  Count, 
"  and  one  I  take  to  mean  that  I  may  return  to 
London  before  the  end  of  the  week  if  the  Lady 
Evelyn  will  graciously  permit  me  to  go. ' ' 

Dr.  Philips  looked  at  both  of  them  and  smiled. 

"  You  must  speak  to  the  Earl  about  that,"  he 
exclaimed.  "  Why,  there  is  his  carriage.  I  must 
go  and  break  the  news  to  him. ' ' 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE   INTERVIEW 

PREMONITION  is  an  odd  thing  enough  and  no  dis- 
tant relative  of  that  sister  art  of  prophecy  which 
the  ancients  so  justly  esteemed.  Evelyn  knew  no 
reason  whatever  why  her  father  should  be  of- 
fended by  the  presence  of  Count  Odin  at  the 
Manor,  but  none  the  less  premonition  warned  her 
that  the  meeting  would  not  be  unattended  by  con- 
sequences of  some  import.  In  this  fear  she  had 
quitted  the  Count's  room  directly  Dr.  Philips 
warned  her  that  the  Earl's  carriage  was  in  the 
courtyard;  and  going  out  to  the  head  of  that 
short  flight  of  stairs  by  which  you  reach  the  ban- 
queting hall,  she  waited  there  in  no  little  expecta- 
tion, afraid  she  knew  not  of  what,  and  yet  quite 
sure  that  she  had  good  reason  to  be  afraid.  Down 
below,  in  the  great  hall  itself,  she  heard  a  sound 
of  voices — for  the  Doctor  had  already  begun  his 
tale — and  she  tried  to  catch  the  sense  of  it,  lis- 
tening particularly  for  any  mention  of  Count 
Odin's  name,  which  must,  she  believed,  be  the 
key  to  this  strange  riddle  of  her  adventure.  When 
her  father  approached  her,  smiling  and  not  ill- 
pleased,  she  was  quite  sure  that  the  Count 's  name 
had  not  been  mentioned;  nor  was  her  surmise  in 
any  way  incorrect. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          119 

The  Earl  came  up  the  stairs  with  the  air  of 
a  man  who  is  glad  to  get  home  again  and  has 
heard  a  good  jest  upon  the  very  threshold  of  his 
house.  He  wore  a  dark  tweed  suit  and  his  bronzed 
face,  if  slightly  drawn  by  the  fatigues  of  travel, 
wore,  none  the  less,  that  benevolent  air  of  con- 
tent which  invariably  attended  the  assurance  that 
all  was  well  at  Melbourne  Hall.  Stooping  to  kiss 
Evelyn,  he  told  her  in  a  word  that  he  was  aware 
of  the  adventure  and  found  it  amusing  enough. 

"  Yes,  the  Doctor  has  told  me,"  he  began;  "  a 
man  and  a  horse  and  a  flying  machine !  My  dear 
girl,  you  must  be  careful.  What  will  the  county 
say  if  we  go  on  like  this— the  second  spill  in  a 
couple  of  months.  Why,  I'll  have  to  endow  an 
hospital  for  your  victims !  Evelyn,  my  dear " 

She  interrupted  him  almost  hotly. 

"  Doctor  Philips  should  write  books,"  she  said 
quickly.  "  We  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
it.  The  horse  bolted  from  Moretown  and  raced 
up  behind  us.  I  turned  into  a  field  and  saved  the 
car.  What  nonsense  to  say  that  it  was  our  fault ! 
Ask  the  Count's  friend  how  it  happened.  He  has 
been  to  London,  but  he  will  return  to-morrow. 
He  can  tell  you  all  about  it,  father.  I  was  too 
frightened  at  the  time  to  know  exactly  what  did 
happen. ' ' 

The  Earl,  still  believing  that  the  Doctor's  in- 
coherent jargon  must  have  some  truth  in  it, 
paused,  nevertheless,  at  the  word  "  Count." 

1 '  Is  the  man  a  foreigner  ?  "  he  asked  quickly. 

"  He  will  tell  you  for  himself,"  she  replied 
evasively.  "  We  have  given  him  the  Chaplain's 


120          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

Room.  Please  go  there  and  ask  him  how  it  was. 
Dr.  Philips  has  been  romancing  as  usual. ' ' 

The  Doctor  came  up  to  them  while  they  spoke 
and  looked  foolish  enough  at  overhearing  her 
words.  He  certainly  was  a  poor  hand  at  a  narra- 
tive, and  his  incoherent  account  of  the  tragedy  had 
left  the  Earl  with  no  other  idea  than  that  of 
Evelyn's  recklessness  and  the  consequences  which 
had  attended  it. 

"  It 's  just  like  me, ' '  he  exclaimed  meekly,  i  i  al- 
ways putting  my  foot  in  it  somewhere.  And  a 
great  big  flat  foot  too,  my  dear.  What  did  I  tell 
him  now?  I  said  you  were  returning  from  Derby 
and  the  horse  bolted  and  your  car  ran  into  a  field. 
That's  it,  wasn't  it  now?  Dear  me,  how  very 
foolish!  " 

Evelyn  did  not  hear  him.  They  had  strolled 
together  down  the  corridor  and  witnessed  the 
Earl  enter  the  sick  man's  room,  and  now  a  sharp 
sound  of  voices  almost  in  anger  came  up  to  them. 
On  his  part,  Dr.  Philips  remained  convinced  that 
the  Count  had  come  into  Derbyshire  to  see  Evelyn 
and  that  the  Earl  had  some  knowledge  of  the  cir- 
cumstances. Evelyn's  abstracted  manner  seemed 
to  bear  him  out  in  this  ridiculous  idea.  Pale  and 
silent  and  agitated,  she  waited  for  the  result  of 
that  momentous  interview.  What  had  the  two 
men  to  say  to  each  other?  How  much  she  would 
have  given  to  be  able  to  answer  that  question ! 

* '  Your  father  knows  something  of  the  Count,  I 
think?  "  the  Doctor  ventured  at  a  hazard  while 
they  waited. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          121 

She  answered  that  she  was  unaware  of  the 
circumstance. 

"  I  have  only  seen  this  man  twice  in  my  life," 
she  exclaimed  with  growing  impatience.  * '  If  you 
are  writing  his  biography,  Doctor,  I  really  am 
worse  than  useless." 

He  looked  at  her  amazed.  ' '  This  man. ' '  Surely 
there  was  nothing  romantic  about  that. 

"  Writing  his  biography.  My  dear  Lady  Eve- 
lyn, what  an  idea !  I  quite  thought  he  was  an  old 
friend  of  yours.  But  everyone  we  know  is  an 
old  friend  of  ours  nowadays,"  he  said  somewhat 
solemnly,  as  though  grieved  that  his  anticipations 
should  thus  be  disappointed.  ' '  I  know  absolutely 
nothing  of  the  Count,"  he  went  on,  "  except  that 
he  is  a  Roumanian,  a  country,  I  believe,  in  the 
south-east  of  Europe,  with  Bukharest  for  its 
capital.  I  remember  that  from  my  schooldays. 
The  Roumanians  shoot  the  Bulgarians  on  half- 
holidays,  and  the  Bulgarians  burn  the  Rouman- 
ians alive  after  they  have  been  to  church  on  Sun- 
days. Evidently  a  country  to  which  one  should 
send  their  relatives — the  elderly  ones  who  have 
made  their  wills  satisfactorily." 

Evelyn  was  too  kind  to  embarrass  him  by  the 
declaration  that  her  mother  had  been  a  daughter 
of  the  country  he  esteemed  so  lightly.  His  readi- 
ness to  apologize  upon  every  occasion  was  typical 
of  a  kindly  man  who  believed  that  all  the  world 
was  ready  to  find  fault  ,with  him.  His  livelihood 
depended  upon  his  recognition  of  the  fact  that 
illness  itself  is  sometimes  little  better  than  a 
vanity — and  that  when  an  obstinate  man  tells  you 


122          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

that  He  is  an  invalid,  his  pride  is  hurt  if  you  tell 
him  that  he  is  not. 

"  My  father  spent  many  years  in  Eoumania 
when  he  was  a  young  man,"  Eyelyn  said,  in  an- 
swer to  the  Doctor's  tirade.  "  Those  are  years  he 
does  not  often  speak  of.  I  can't  tell  you  why, 
Doctor,  but  he  dislikes  anyone  even  to  remind 
him  that  he  was  once  an  attache  at  Bukharest. 
Perhaps  he  will  not  welcome  Count  Odin  here.  I 
imagine  it  may  be  so. ' ' 

"I'm  quite  certain  of  it,"  said  the  Doctor  with 
a  dry  smile.  "  People  who  are  glad  to  see  each 
other  do  not  talk  like  that — of  course  we  must  not 
listen,"  he  added,  drawing  her  away  toward  the 
Long  Gallery ;  "  we  are  not  supposed  to  be  present 
at  all." 

A  sound  of  voices  raised  almost  as  though  in 
anger  warned  him  that  this  was  no  common  affair. 
Every  doctor  is  curious,  and  Dr.  Philips  had  no 
merits  above  the  common  in  this  respect.  He 
knew  that  he  would  narrate  the  whole  circum- 
stance to  the  Vicar  later  on  in  the  evening,  and 
that  two  wise  heads  would  be  shaken  together  over 
this  amazing  discovery.  For  the  moment  he 
watched  Evelyn  narrowly  and,  perceiving  her 
agitation,  found  himself  asking  how  much  of  her 
story  was  true.  Had  she,  indeed,  met  this  in- 
truder but  once  in  London;  and  was  she  in  ig- 
norance of  the  Earl's  past,  so  far  as  Eoumania 
had  written  it?  He  doubted  the  possibility — it 
seemed  to  him  prudent,  however,  not  to  remain 
longer  at  the  Hall. 

"  I  shall  run  over  in  the  morning,"  he  said 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          123 

blandly;  "  you  can  tell  me  anything  I  ought  to 
know  then.  There  is  nothing  much  the  matter 
with  the  man,  and  a  bump  may  have  knocked 
some  good  sense  into  his  head.  Don't  allow  him 
to  worry  the  Earl — I  don't  want  another  patient 
iii  the  house,  and  your  father  has  not  looked  very 
well  lately.  Send  for  me  again  if  you  have  any 
trouble,  and  I'll  be  back  as  soon  as  the  mes- 
senger. ' ' 

He  would  much  have  liked  to  stop,  but  that,  he 
realized,  was  out  of  the  question.  Here  was  some 
private  page  from  the  life-story  of  a  man  whose 
actions  had  ever  mystified  both  his  friends  and 
neighbors.  An  old  woman  in  his  love  of  a  scandal, 
Dr.  Philips  had  the  Earl's  displeasure  to  set  in 
the  other  pan  of  the  social  balance;  and  that  was 
something  not  to  be  lightly  weighed.  Taking 
leave  of  Evelyn  at  the  western  door  of  the  Long 
Gallery,  he  left  her  with  many  protestations  of  his 
interest,  and  the  repeated  assurance  that  his  morn- 
ing visit  should  be  an  early  one. 

"  I'll  look  in  first  thing,"  he  exclaimed;  "  don't 
let  that  man  worry  the  Earl,  my  dear.  There's  a 
hang-dog  look  about  him  I  never  liked.  Keep 
your  eyes  on  him — and  take  my  advice,  the  advice 
of  an  old  friend — get  rid  of  him." 

Anxious  as  she  was,  she  could  not  but  smile  at 
this  volteface.  An  hour  ago,  believing  that  Count 
Odin  had  come  to  Melbourne  because  he  was  her 
lover,  the  Doctor  was  ready  to  declare  him  a  very 
Adonis,  a  prodigy  of  charm  and  valor  and  all  the 
graces.  Now  he  had  become  ' '  that  man, ' '  a  term 
human  nature  is  ready  enough  to  apply  to  stran- 


124          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

gers.  Evelyn,  left  alone  in  the  gallery,  fell  to 
wondering  which  was  the  truer  estimate.  Why, 
she  asked,  had  she  any  interest  in  this  stranger  at 
all  ?  Did  the  appeal  he  made  to  her  speak  to  Etta 
Romney  or  to  Evelyn,  my  lord  of  Melbourne's 
daughter?  Was  there  not  a  subtle  idea  that  this 
man  could  speak  for  the  glamour  and  the  stir  of 
that  world  she  craved  for  and  was  denied.  Even 
at  this  early  stage,  she  did  not  believe  that  the 
influence  was  for  good,  though  she  forbore  to 
name  it  as  utterly  evil.  Agitation,  indeed,  and  a 
curiosity  more  potent  than  any  she  had  ever  sub- 
mitted to,  now  dominated  her  to  the  exclusion  of 
all  other  thoughts.  Why  did  her  father  delay? 
Of  what  sometime  forgotten  day  of  the  dead 
years  were  the  two  men  now  speaking  in  a  tone 
which  declared  their  anger?  She  could  not  even 
hazard  an  answer.  The  gong  for  dressing  sounded 
and  still  the  Earl  did  not  leave  the  Count's  room. 
Dinner  was  served — he  did  not  appear  at  the  table. 
Greatly  distressed  and  afraid,  Evelyn  waited  until 
nine  o'clock,  when  a  message  came  down  to  tell 
her  that  he  had  gone  to  his  room  and  would  dine 
alone. 

* '  I  must  go  up,  Griggs, ' '  she  said  firmly ;  ' '  my 
father  cannot  be  well." 

"  My  lady,"  he  said,  "  the  Earl  was  firm  on 
that.  He  will  see  no  one,  not  even  you  to-night. ' ' 

The  intimation  astounded  her,  and  yet  had  been 
expected.  Destiny  spoke  to  her  plainly  since  the 
day  the  Count  had  come  to  Melbourne  Hall.  For 
what  else  had  it  been  but  Destiny  which  brought 
her  face  to  face  with  this  man  in  London,  sent  her 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          125 

almost  into  his  arms  and  revealed  her  name  to 
him?  But  for  that  chance  encounter,  her  secret 
might  have  remained  her  own  to  the  end.  She  did 
not  fear  her  secret  now,  but  a  great  mystery,  the 
story  of  her  father's  life  (she  knew  not  what  it 
might  be),  told  abroad  to  the  world,  to  his  shame 
and  her  own.  Not  in  vain  had  she  lived  these 
years  of  a  close  intimacy  with  one  who  could  not 
so  much  as  bear  the  word  ' '  youth  ' '  mentioned  in 
his  presence.  There  had  been  a  past  in  the  Earl's 
life,  of  that  she  was  convinced — and  this  man,  she 
said,  had  come  to  the  Manor  to  accuse  him.  It 
remained  for  her  to  take  up  arms  against  him — = 
she,  my  Lady  Evelyn,  the  recluse,  the  captive  of 
a  selfish  idea. 

And  that  was  in  her  mind  already — the  per- 
sonal issue  between  herself  and  the  Count.  She 
would  not  shrink  from  it,  although  she  realized  its 
perils. 

"  Not  Evelyn,  but  Etta,"  she  said,  "  yes,  yes, 
and  that  is  Destiny  also.  And  now  the  world  is 
all  before  me  and  I  am  alone." 

Alone!  Truly  so,  for  my  Lady  Evelyn  knew 
not  one  in  all  the  world  to  whom  she  might  speak 
in  that  hour  of  awakening. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

INHERITANCE 

ALONE  in  his  own  room,  high  up  in  the  northern 
tower  of  Melbourne  Hall,  the  Earl  locked  the  door 
and  turned  up  the  lights  with  the  air  of  a  man 
who  has  a  considerable  task  before  him  and  must 
make  the  most  of  the  hours  of  grace  remaining. 

He  was  very  pale  and  greatly  changed  since  he 
had  returned  from  London  three  hours  ago.  Some 
would  have  perceived  in  his  manner,  not  the  evi- 
dences of  fear  but  of  displeasure,  and  such  dis- 
pleasure as  events  bordering  upon  tragedy  alone 
could  provoke.  Uttering  but  one  harsh  instruc- 
tion to  the  servant  who  answered  his  bell,  he  sat 
at  his  writing  table  and  for  a  full  hour  turned  over 
the  pages  of  a  diary  which  had  not  seen  the  light 
for  twenty  years  or  more. 

Georges  Odin !  How  the  very  name  could  seize 
upon  his  mind  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other 
thoughts.  Sitting  there  with  the  time-stained 
papers  before  him,  the  Earl  was  no  longer  in 
Derbyshire  but  out  upon  the  Carpathians,  a  youth 
of  the  West  craving  for  the  excitements  of  the 
East;  a  hunter  upon  a  brave  horse,  the  friend  of 
brigands  and  of  outlaws — drinking  deep  of  the 
intoxicating  draughts  of  freedom  and  debauch. 
"Well  and  truly  had  this  young  Count,  whom  Fate 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          127 

had  sent  to  his  door,  reminded  him  of  these  scenes 
he  had  made  it  his  life's  purpose  to  forget. 

' '  Zallony,  my  lord, ' '  he  had  said, ' '  Zallony  still 
lives  and  you  were  one  of  Zallony 's  band.  They 
tell  of  your  crimes  to  this  day.  The  mad  English- 
man who  carried  the  village  girls  to  the  hills — the 
mad  Englishman  who  drank  when  no  other  could 
lift  the  cup — the  mad  Englishman  who  rode  out 
of  Bukliarest  in  a  bandit's  cloak  and  lived  the 
Bohemian  days  of  which  the  very  gypsies  were 
ashamed.  Shall  I  tell  you  his  name?  It  would  be 
that  of  my  father 's  murderer. ' ' 

And  the  answer  had  been  a  cringing  evasion. 

"  I  met  Georges  Odin  in  fair  fight*  He  was 
the  better  man.  I  could  show  the  scars  his  sword 
left  to  this  day.  Of  what  do  you  accuse  me?  They 
sent  him  to  prison — well,  I  did  not  make  their 
laws.  He  died  there,  a  convict  laborer  in  the  salt 
mines.  Was  it  my  doing?  Ask  those  at  the  Min- 
istry. We  moved  heaven  and  earth  to  save  him. 
The  Government's  reason  was  a  political  one. 
They  sent  your  father  to  the  mines  because  the 
Kussian  Government — then  all  powerful  at  Buk- 
harest — believed  him  to  be  its  most  dangerous 
enemy.  His  affair  with  me  was  the  excuse.  What 
had  I  to  do  with  it?  " 

But  the  Count  persisted. 

11  Your  influence  would  have  saved  him.  You 
preferred  to  keep  silent,  my  lord.  And  I  will  tell 
you  more.  It  was  at  your  instigation  that  the 
Roumanian  Government  arrested  my  father  in 
the  first  place.  You  wished  for  revenge — I  think 
it  was  more  than  that.  You  were  afraid  that  the 


128          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

woman  you  married  would  find  you  out  if  Georges 
•Odin  regained  his  liberty.  You  were  not  sure  that 
Dora  d'Istran  did  not  love  him.  And  so — you 
left  Eoumania  and  took  her  with  you — luckily  for 
you  both — to  die  before  she  had  read  her  own 
heart  truly.  That's  what  I  have  come  this  long 
way  to  tell  you.  To  Eobert  Forrester — I  said. 
How  should  I  know  that  in  England  they  would 
make  a  lord  of  such  a  man!  I  did  not  know  it; 
but  that  to  me  is  the  same.  You  shall  answer  my 
question  or  pay  the  price.  My  lord,  I  have  brains 
of  my  own  and  I  can  use  them.  You  shall  pay  me 
what  you  owe — you  will  be  wise  to  do  so. ' ' 

The  Earl  did  not  wince  at  the  threat,  nor  did 
his  habitual  self-control  desert  him.  His  insight 
would  have  been  shallow  indeed  if  he  had  not 
perceived  that  he  was  face  to  face  with  a  danger- 
ous enemy,  and  one  with  whom  he  might  not  trifle. 

' '  Put  your  question  to  me  and  I  will  answer  it, ' ' 
he  said  doggedly.  "  Eemember  that  we  are  not 
in  Eoumania,  Count.  A  word  from  me  and  my 
men  would  set  you  where  questions  would  help 
you  little.  Speak  freely  while  I  have  the  patience 
to  hear  you. ' ' 

"  As  freely  as  you  could  desire,  my  lord.  A 
wise  man  would  not  utter  a  threat  at  such  a  time. 
Do  you  think  that  I,  Georges  Odin's  son,  do  you 
think  that  I  come  to  England  alone?  Ah,  my 
lord,  how  little  you  know  me !  Open  one  of  your 
windows  and  listen  for  the  message  my  friends 
will  deliver  to  you.  I  come  to  you  with  white  gloves 
upon  my  hands.  It  is  to  ask  you,  my  lord,  in  what 
prison  my  poor  father  is  lying  at  this  moment. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          129 

Tell  me  that,  help  me  to  open  the  gates  for  him, 
and  we  are  friends.  It  will  be  time  to  utter  threats 
when  you  refuse." 

The  Earl's  face  blanched  at  the  words,  but 
he  did  not  immediately  reply  to  them.  The  story 
which  the  young  man  told  was  too  astonishing 
that  he  should  easily  understand  it. 

"  You  father  died  in  the  fortress  of  Krajova," 
he  said  at  length.  "  I  remember  that  it  was  in 
the  month  of  November  in  the  year  1874.  Why 
do  you  speak  of  the  gates  of  his  prison?  It  is 
incredible  that  you  should  bring  such  a  story 
to  me." 

"  As  little  incredible  as  your  own  ignorance, 
my  lord.  I  thought  as  you  did  until  the  day,  five 
years  ago,  which  released  Zallony's  brother  from 
Krajova.  He  brought  the  news  to  us.  My  father 
lives.  But  he  is  at  Krajova  no  longer.  The  Rus- 
sian Government  never  forgets,  my  lord.  It  re- 
members the  day  when  Georges  Odin  was  its 
enemy.  My  own  people  fear  that  my  father's 
liberty  would  awaken  old  affairs  that  had  better 
sleep.  He  is  the  victim  of  them.  Yours  is  the 
one  hand  in  all  Europe  that  could  set  him  free. 
My  lord,  the  world  must  know  his  story  and  you 
shall  write  it.  And  if  not  you — then  my  Lady 
Evelyn,  your  daughter.  Do  you  think  I  am  so 
blind  that  I  do  not  read  the  truth?  The  blood  that 
ran  in  the  mother's  veins  runs  in  the  daughter's. 
Open  the  doors  of  this  house  to  her  and  she  will 
go  to  the  hills  as  her  mother  went.  The  desire  of 
life  throbs  in  her  veins.  When  I  speak  to  her,  I 
witness  the  struggle  between  th3  old  and  the 


130          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

new;  faith  and  joy;  the  convent  and  the  theatre; 
love  and  the  prison.  Your  pride,  your  fear,  have 
made  a  captive  of  her — but  I,  my  lord,  may  yet 
cut  her  pretty  bonds.  As  God  is  in  heaven,  I  will 
not  spare  her  one  hour  of  shame  if  you  do  not 
give  my  father  back  to  me.  Think  of  that  before 
you  answer  me.  The  girl  or  the  man.  Your  shame 
or  her  freedom.  My  lord,  you  have  not  many 
iiours  in  which  to  choose. ' ' 

Such  an  alternative  the  Earl  carried  with  him 
to  his  own  room ;  such  an  alternative  spoke  to  him 
from  every  page  of  the  diaries  his  hand  turned 
so  painfully.  It  was  as  though  the  dead  had 
risen  to  accuse  him.  Yonder,  in  a  great  clamped 
drawer  of  the  bureau,  were  the  letters  he  had  re- 
ceived from  his  dead  wife  in  the  days  when  he 
contended  with  Georges  Odin  for  the  love  of  that 
mad,  wild  girl  of  the  Carpathians.  How  ardently 
he  had  loved  her !  What  mad  hours  they  had  lived 
amid  the  gypsy  children  of  Eoumania!  And  yet 
in  heart  and  will  she  was  another 's.  He  had  long 
known  she  loved  the  prisoner  at  Krajova.  And 
the  one  supremely  cowardly  thing  he  had  done 
in  the  course  of  his  life  had  been  done  at  the 
dictation  of  an  uncontrollable  passion  which 
^would  sacrifice  even  honor  for  her  sake.  Georges 
Odin,  the  Count 's  father,  had  met  him  in  fair  fight 
— the  better  swordsman  had  won.  Never  would  he 
forget  the  day — the  snow-capped  hills,  the  white 
glen  in  which  they  fought ;  the  keen  sword  lightly 
engaging  his  own ;  then  the  swift  attack,  the  mas- 
terly reposte  and  that  sensation  as  of  red-hot 
iron  passing  tc  his  very  heart.  No  shame  here, 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          131 

it  is  true;  but  there  were  days  of  shame  after- 
ward when  the  story  came  out  and  King  Charles 
himself  asked  the  question,  was  it  so!  A  word 
from  Robert  Forrester  would  have  saved  his 
enemy  from  the  mines.  He  never  spoke  it.  The 
man  disappeared  from  his  ken,  and  he  believed 
that  he  was  dead.  He  could  scarcely  deny  the  jus- 
tice of  the  retribution  which  now  overtook  him. 

Georges  Odin  alive  and  a  prisoner  still  in  some 
unknown  fortress  citadel.  How  the  very  name 
could  awaken  forgotten  sensations!  It  seemed  to> 
the  Earl  as  though  the  madness  of  his  youth  strug- 
gled once  more  for  mastery  with  the  finer 
impulses  and  desires  which  a  later  day  had  in- 
spired. Yesterday  he  had  been  a  country  gen- 
tleman, seeking  to  cast  behind  finally  that  cloak 
of  unconventionality  he  had  worn  with  such 
pleasure  in  his  youth.  He  had  meant  to  white- 
wash the  sepulchre ;  to  take  his  seat  in  the  Lords ; 
to  equip  himself  for  the  great  honors  thrust  upon 
him;  to  marry  Evelyn  sedately  to  a  son  of  a 
noble  house  and  then,  as  it  were,  to  convince  him- 
self that  the  abnormal  had  been  purged  out  of 
him  and  would  afflict  him  no  more.  These  am- 
bitions, however,  were  powerless  now  to  combat 
the  more  natural  instincts  which  the  story  of  his 
youth  could  recreate  for  him.  Once  more  in  im- 
agination he  rode  the  hills  of  Koumania  as  a  free 
adventurer,  submitting  to  the  laws  neither  of  God 
nor  of  man.  Once  more  the  sensuous  voluptuous- 
ness of  the  Earl  dominated  him,  and  the  spirit 
within  him  rebelled  at  its  captivity.  He  must 
escape  convention,  he  thought,  become  a  wanderer 


132          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

once  more.  And  Evelyn!  Had  he  not  feared  to 
read  in  her  acts  this  very  inheritance  his  own 
nature  cried  out  for.  He  shuddered  when  he 
thought  of  Evelyn.  Who  would  save  her  in  the 
hour  of  cataclysm? 

Such  were  the  thoughts  of  that  night  long  drawn 
and  terrible.  In  moments  of  revulsion  against 
those  who  had  thus  brought  him  to  bay,  there 
were  mad  whisperings  which  reminded  him  that 
Georges  Odin's  son  was  the  prisoner  of  his  house 
and  that,  as  he  would,  he  might  readily  be  de- 
tained there  until  some  understanding  had  been 
come  to.  This  was  a  thought  the  Earl  could  recall 
again  and  again.  The  man  was  alone  and  helpless 
in  his  hands.  It  would  be  folly  to  open  the  doors 
and  to  say,  "  Go  out  and  tell  the  story  to  the 
world."  Melbourne  Hall  had  harbored  greater 
secrets  before  that  day,  and  might  witness  them 
again.  Why  should  he  stand  irresolute ;  what  for- 
bade him  to  save  Evelyn  from  all  that  revelation 
must  mean  to  her  I  He  knew  not — it  remained  for 
the  house  to  answer  him,  silently  and  finally,  with 
the  answer  of  one  who  has  set  out  upon  no  idle 
mission  but  is  well  aware  of  the  danger  he  must 
face. 

This  was  at  the  hour  of  dawn.  Unable  to  sleep, 
the  Earl  sat  by  his  open  window  watching  the  chill 
gra>  light  creeping  over  the  dew-laden  grass  and 
disclosing  the  trees  one  by  one  as  though  an  un- 
seen hand  drew  back  the  curtain  of  the  night  from 
the  stately  branches.  A  thrush  with  a  STT3et  note 
heralded  the  day — the  deer  began  to  browse  be- 
neath the  great  avenue  of  yews.  Anon,  a  sweet 
fresh  air,  invigorating  as  a  very  draught  of  life 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          133 

itself,  came  down  from  the  hills  and  sent  the  rip- 
ples leaping  and  splashing  beneath  the  arches  of 
the  old  bridge,  as  though  the  river  also  had 
awakened  from  a  lover's  dreams.  And  now  all 
stood  revealed  as  in  a  picture  of  a  forest  land; 
the  vast  spaces  of  ripe  green  grass,  delicious  vis- 
tas of  wood  and  thicket;  home  scenes,  and  scenes 
of  Nature  untrammelled.  Upon  other  days,  often 
at  such  an  hour  as  thu,  the  Earl  had  looked  down 
upon  them  and  said,  "  Mine — mine  .  .  .all 
these  are  mine."  To-day  he  viewed  them  with 
heavy  eyes.  Something  unfamiliar  in  the  land- 
scape attracted  his  attention  and  roused  him  from 
his  musings. 

A  loom  of  heavy  white  smoke  floating  upward 
from  the  glen!  Nothing  but  that.  A  drift  of 
smoke  and  anon  the  figure  of  a  man  seen  between 
the  trees!  Another  would  hardly  have  remarked 
the  circumstances,  but  Robert  Forrester  became 
awake  in  an  instant  and  as  vigilant  as  one  who 
dreads  that  which  his  eyes  discover. 

"  They  are  gypsies,  by—  '  he  said,  "  and 
they  have  come  at  this  man's  bidding." 

He  knew  the  meaning  of  their  presence  without 
words  to  tell  him.  They  had  come  to  demand  the 
freedom  of  their  old  master,  Georges  Odin,  whose 
son  had  carried  them  across  the  seas  with  him. 

1 1  I  must  answer  them, ' '  the  Earl  said,  '  *  and  if 
I  answer  them,  what  then?  Will  the  other  be 
silent?  " 

He  turned  away  and  shut  the  window  violently, 
as  though  to  shut  the  spectre  out. 

"  He  would  kill  me,"  he  said;  "  the  world  is  not 
big  enough  to  hide  me  from  Georges  Odin." 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE   PRICE   OF   SALVATION 

y»  *~ 

EVELYN  met  her  father  r,t  the  breakfast  table 
on  the  following  morning ;  but  their  brief  conver- 
sation in  no  way  enlightened  her.  The  Earl,  in- 
deed, appeared  to  be  entirely  wrapped  up  in  his 
own  thoughts,  and  the  few  questions  he  put  to  her 
iwere  far  from  being  helpful. 

"  You  have  seen  my  friend,  Count  Odin,"  he 
remarked  abruptly,  "  what  is  your  opinion  of 
Mm?  " 

"  He  interests  me,  but  I  do  not  like  him,"  she 
replied  as  frankly. 

"  A  first  impression,"  the  Earl  continued  with 
a  note  of  annoyance  but  ill-concealed.  ' '  You  will 
get  to  know  him  better.  His  father  was  my  oldest 
friend. ' ' 

*  *  In  which  case  the  son  is  sometimes  an  embar- 
rassment, ' '  she  said  naturally,  and  with  no  idea  of 
the  meaning  of  her  words? 

The  Earl  looked  up  quickly. 

' '  Has  he  told  you  anything, ' '  he  asked  with  lit- 
tle cleverness,  "  spoken  of  Bukharest,  perhaps? 
iYou  must  have  been  a  good  deal  together  while  I 
w&s  away.  What  did  he  say  to  you?  A  man  like 
that  is  never  one  to  hold  his  tongue." 

She  smiled  at  the  suggestion. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          135 

"  He  was  unconscious  for  thirty  hours.  My 
store  of  small  talk  did  not  come  up  to  that.  Why 
do  you  ask  me,  father?  Don't  you  wish  me  to 
talk  to  him?  " 

"  My  dear  child,  I  wish  you  to  like  him  if  you 
can.  His  father  was  my  friend.  We  must  show 
him  hospitality  just  for  his  father's  sake." 

"  Oh,  I'll  take  him  in  the  park  and  flirt  with 
him  if  you  wish  it.  The  nuns  did  not  teach  me 
how — I  suppose  flirtation  was  an  extra." 

Again  he  looked  at  her  closely.  This  flippancy 
veiled  some  humor  he  could  not  fathom.  Was  it 
possible  that  the  girl  had  been  fascinated  already 
by  a  man  well  schooled  in  the  arts  of  pleasing 
women.  And  what  solution  of  his  trouble  would 
that  be?  If  he  gave  Evelyn  to  the  son  of  Georges 
Odin — a  coward's  temptation  from  which  he 
shrank  immediately,  but  not  so  far  away  that  he 
put  the  thought  entirely  from  him. 

"  I  mean  nothing  so  foolish,"  he  exclaimed 
sharply;  "  the  Count  is  our  guest  and  must  be 
treated  as  such.  I  understand  that  he  is  allowed 
to  go  out  to-day.  If  you  have  any  wish  to  accom- 
pany him  in  the  car,  he  will  consider  it  a  cour- 
tesy. ' ' 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  in  a  hard  voice*;  "  I 
should  really  be  frightened  of  the  Vicar's  wife." 

Her  raillery  closed  the  conversation.  The  Ear! 
went  upstairs  to  his  guest.  Evelyn,  at  a  later 
hour,  caught  up  a  straw  hat  and  ran  off  by  herself 
to  the  little  boat-house  by  the  river.  She  was  a 
skilful  canoeist  and  there  was  just  water  enough 
for  the  dainty  canoe  her  father  had  bought  in. 


136          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

Canada  for  her.  Never  was  she  so  much  alone 
as  when  lying,  book  in  hand,  beneath  the  shelter  of 
some  umbrageous  willow;  and  to-day  she  wel- 
comed solitude  as  she  had  never  welcomed  it  since 
first  they  came  to  Melbourne  HalL  One  refuge 
there  was  above  others — Di  Vernon's  Arbor,  they 
called  it,  where  the  willows  spread  their  trailing 
branches  upon  the  very  waters;  where  the  banks 
were  so  many  couches  of  verdant  grass,  the  iris 
generous  in  its  abundant  beauty,  the  river  but  a 
pool  of  the  deepest,  most  entrancing  blue  water— 
this  refuge  she  had  named  the  Lake  of  Dreams, 
and  to  this  to-day  she  steered  her  frail  craft,  and 
there  found  that  solitude  she  prized  so  greatly. 

What  did  her  father  mean  by  wishing  her  to  be 
gracious  to  Count  Odin!  Had  he  so  changed  in  a 
night  that  he  would  sacrifice  his  only  daughter  to 
atone  for  some  wrong  committed  in  his  own  boy- 
hood? Her  passionate  nature  could  resent  the 
mere  idea  as  one  too  shameful  to  contemplate. 
But  what  did  it  mean  then,  and  how  would  she 
stand  if  the  Count  presumed  upon  her  father's 
acquiescence?  The  fascination  which  this  stran- 
ger exercised  did  not  deceive  her ;  she  knew  it  for 
the  spell  of  evil,  to  be  resisted  with  all  her  heart 
and  soul.  Was  she  strong  enough,  had  she  charac- 
ter enough, to  resist  it?  She  would  be  alone  against 
them  both  if  the  worst  befell,  she  remembered, 
and  would  fight  her  battle  unaided.  Others  might 
have  been  dismayed,  but  not  Evelyn,  the  daughter 
of  Dora  d'Istran.  She  was  grateful  perhaps  that 
her  father  had  declared  his  preference  so  openly. 
A  veiled  hostility  toward  their  guest  might  have 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          137 

provoked  her  to  show  him  civilities  which  were 
asked  of  her  no  longer.  As  it  was,  she  understood 
her  position  and  could  prepare  for  it. 

To  this  point  her  reverie  had  carried  her  when 
she  became  aware  that  she  was  no  longer  alone. 
A  rustling  of  leaves,  a  twig  snapping  upon  the 
bank,  brought  her  instantly  to  a  recognition  of  the 
fact  that  some  one  watched  her  hiding-place  be- 
hind the  willows  of  the  pool.  Whoever  the  in- 
truder might  be,  he  withdrew  when  she  looked  up, 
and  his  face  remained  undiscovered.  Evelyn  re- 
sented this  intrusion  greatly,  and  was  about  to 
move  away  when  some  one,  hidden  by  the  trees, 
began  to  play  a  zither  very  sweetly,  and  to  this  the 
music  of  a  guitar  and  a  fiddle  were  added  pres- 
ently, and  then  the  pleasing  notes  of  a  human 
voice.  Pushing  her  canoe  out  into  +the  stream, 
Evelyn  could  just  espy  a  red  scarf  flashing  be- 
tween the  trees  and,  from  time  to  time,  the  dark 
face  of  a  true  son  of  Egypt.  Who  these  men  were 
or  why  they  thus  defied  her  privacy,  she  could  not 
so  much  as  hazard ;  nor  did  she  any  longer  resent 
their  temerity.  The  weird,  wild  music  made  a 
strange  appeal  to  her.  It  awakened  impulses  and 
ideas  she  had  striven  to  subdue;  inspired  her  im- 
agination to  old  ideals — excited  and  troubled  her 
as  no  music  she  had  heard  before?  The  same  mad 
courage  which  sent  her  to  London  to  play  upon 
the  stage  of  a  theatre  returned  to  her  and  filled 
her  with  an  inexplicable  ecstasy.  She  had  all  the 
desire  to  trample  down  the  conventions  which 
stifled  her  liberty  and  to  let  the  world  think  as  it 
would.  Etta  Romney  came  back  to  life  and  being 


138          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

in  that  moment — Etta  speaking  to  Evelyn  and 
saying,  "  This  is  a  message  of  the  joy  of  life, 
listen,  for  it  is  the  voice  of  Destiny. ' ' 

The  music  ceased  upon  a  weird  chord  in  a  minor 
key;  and,  when  it  had  died  away,  Evelyn  became 
aware  that  the  men  were  talking  in  a  strange 
tongue  and  secretly,  and  that  they  still  had  no 
intention  of  declaring  their  presence.  With  the 
passing  of  the  spell  of  sweet  sounds,  she  found 
herself  not  without  a  little  alarmed  curiosity  to 
learn  who  they  were  and  by  whom  they  had  been 
permitted  to  wander  abroad  in  the  park,  appar- 
ently unquestioned  and  unknown.  Disquiet,  in- 
deed, would  have  sent  her  to  the  house  again,  but 
for  the  appearance  of  no  other  than  Count  Odin 
himself,  who  came  without  warning  to  the  water 's 
edge  and  laughed  at  her  evident  perplexity. 

"  My  fellows  annoy  you,  dear  lady,"  he  said. 
"  Pray  let  me  make  the  excuses  for  them.  You 
do  not  like  their  music — is  it  not  sol  ' 

*  *  Not  at  all,  I  like  it  very  much, ' '  she  said,  not 
weighing  her  words.  "  It  is  the  maddest  music  I 
ever  heard  in  all  my  life." 

"  Then  come  and  tell  young  Zallony  so.  I 
brought  him  to  England,  Lady  Evelyn.  I  mean  to 
make  his  fortune.  Come  and  see  him  and  tell  him 
if  London  will  not  like  him  when  he  scrapes  the 
fiddle  in  a  lady's  ear.  It  would  be  gracious  of  you 
to  do  that — these  poor  fellows  would  die  if  you 
English  ladies  did  not  clap  the  hands  for  them. 
Come  and  be  good  to  young  Zallony  and  he  will 
never  forget." 

He  helped  her  ashore  with  his  left  hand,  for  his 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          139 

right  he  carried  in  a  silken  scarf,  the  last  remain- 
ing witness  to  his  accident.  His  dress  was  a  well- 
fitting  suit  of  gray  flannels,  with  a  faint  blue 
stripe  upon  them.  He  had  the  air  and  manner  of 
a  man  who  denied  himself  no  luxury  and  was  per- 
fectly well  aware  of  the  fascination  he  exercised 
upon  the  majority  of  women  he  met,  whatever 
their  nationality.  Had  Evelyn  been  questioned 
she  would  have  said  that  his  eyes  were  the  best 
gift  with  which  Nature  had  dowered  him.  Of  the 
darkest  gray,  soft  and  languishing  in  a  common 
way,  they  could,  when  passion  dominated  them, 
look  into  the  very  soul  of  the  chosen  victim  and 
leave  it  almost  helpless  before  their  steadfast 
gaze.  To  this  a  soldier's  carriage  was  to  be 
added;  the  grand  air  of  a  man  born  in  the  East 
and  accustomed  to  be  obeyed. 

' '  This  is  Zallony, ' '  he  said  with  a  tinge  of  pride 
in  his  voice,  "  also  the  son  of  a  man  with  whom 
your  father  was  very  well  acquainted  in  his 
younger  days.  Command  him  and  he  will  fiddle 
for  you.  There  are  a  hundred  ladies  in  Bukharest 
who  are,  at  all  times,  ready  to  die  for  him.  He 
comes  to  England  and  spares  their  lives.  Admit 
his  generosity,  dear  lady.  He  will  be  very  kind  to 
you  for  my  sake. ' ' 

Zallony  was  a  Romany  of  Romanies:  a  tall, 
dark-eyed  gypsy,  slim  and  graceful,  and  a  musi- 
cian in  every  thought  and  act  of  his  life.  He  wore 
a  dark  suit  of  serge,  a  broad-brimmed  hat,  and  a 
bright  blue  scarf  about  his  waist.  With  him  were 
three  others;  one  a  very  old  man  dressed  in  a 
bizarre  fashion  of  the  East,  and  at  no  pains  to 


140          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

adapt  it  to  the  conventions  of  the  West ;  the  rest, 
dark-visaged,  far  from  amiable-looking  fellows, 
who  might  never  have  smiled  in  all  their  lives. 
Zallony  remained  a  prince  .among  them.  He 
bowed  low  to  Evelyn  and  instantly  struck  up  a 
lively  air,  which  the  others  took  up  with  that  verve 
and  spirit  so  characteristic  of  Eastern  musicians. 
When  they  had  finished,  Evelyn  found  herself 
thanking  them  warmly.  They  had  no  English, 
and  could  only  answer  her  with  repeated  smiles. 

"  How  did  these  people  come  here?  "  she  asked 
the  Count,  as  they  began  to  walk  slowly  toward 
the  woods. 

His  reply  found  him  once  more  telling  the  truth 
and  astounded,  perhaps,  at  the  ease  of  a  strange 
employment. 

"  By  the  railway  and  the  sea,  Lady  Evelyn. 
They  are  my  watch-dogs — you  would  call  them 
that  in  England.  Oh,  yes,  I  am  a  timid  traveller. 
I  like  to  hear  these  fellows  barking  in  the  woods. 
So  much  they  love  me  that  if  I  were  in  prison  they 
would  pull  down  the  walls  to  get  me  out.  Your 
father,  my  lord,  does  not  forbid  them  to  pitch 
their  tents  in  his  park.  Why  should  he?  I  am 
his  guest  and  shall  be  a  long  time  in  this  country, 
perhaps.  These  fellows  are  not  accustomed  to 
live  in  houses.  Dig  them  a  cave  and  they  will 
make  themselves  happy — they  are  sons  of  tents 
and  the  hills;  men  who  know  how  to  live  and 
how  to  die.  The  story  of  Roumania  has  written 
the  name  of  Zallony 's  father  in  golden  letters. 
He  fought  for  our  country  against  the  Russians 
who  would  have  stolen  our  liberty  from  us.  To 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          141 

this  day  the  Ministry  at  Petersburg  would  hang 
his  son  if  he  was  so  very  foolish  as  to  visit  that 
unfortunate  country.  Truly,  Zallony  has  many 
who  love  him  not — he  is  fortunate,  Lady  Evelyn, 
that  your  father  is  not  among  the  number." 

He  meant  her  to  ask  him  a  question  and  she  did 
not  flinch  from  it. 

"  Why  should  my  father  have  any  opinions 
upon  the  matter  I  Are  these  people  known  to  him 
also?  " 

* '  My  dear  lady,  in  Roumania,  twenty  years  ago, 
the  bravest  men,  the  biggest  hearts,  were  at  Zal- 
Jony's  command.  His  regiment  of  hussars  was 
the  finest  that  the  world  has  ever  seen.  Bukharest 
made  it  a  fashion  to  send  young  men  secretly  to  its 
ranks.  The  name  of  Zallony  stood  for  a  brother- 
hood of  men,  not  soldiers  only,  but  those  sworn 
to  fidelity  upon  the  Cross;  to  serve  each  other 
faithfully,  to  hold  all  things  in  common — the  poor 
devils,  how  little  they  had  to  hold ! — such  were  Zal- 
lony's  hussars.  Lady,  your  father  and  my  father 
served  together  in  the  ranks ;  they  took  a  common 
oath — they  rode  the  hills,  lived  wild  nights  on 
desolate  mountains,  shared  good  fortune  and  ill, 
until  an  unlucky  day  when  a  woman  came  between 
them  and  brotherhood  was  no  more.  I  was  such 
a  little  fellow  then  that  I  could  not  lift" the  sword 
they  put  into  my  hands;  but  they  filled  my  body 
up  with  wine  and  I  rode  my  pony  after  them, 
many  a  day  that  shall  never  be  forgotten.  This 
is  to  tell  you  that  my  mother,  a  little  wild  girl  of 
the  Carpathians,  died  the  year  I  was  born.  Her 
I  do  not  remember — a  thing  to  be  regretted,  for 


142          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

who  may  say  what  a  mother 's  memory  may  not  do 
for  that  man  who  will  let  it  be  his  guiding  star. 
I  did  not  know  her,  Lady  Evelyn.  When  they  car- 
ried my  father  to  prison,  the  priests  took  charge 
of  me  and  filled  my  head  with  their  stories  of 
peace  and  good-will — the  head  of  one  who  had 
ridden  with  Zallony  on  the  hills  and  heard  the  call 
to  arms  as  soon  as  he  could  hear  anything  at  all. 
They  told  me  that  my  father  was  dead — five  years 
ago  I  learned  that  he  lived.  Lady  Evelyn,  he  is 
a  prisoner,  and  I  have  come  to  England  to  give 
him  liberty." 

He  looked  at  her,  waiting  for  a  second  question, 
nor  did  she  disappoint  him. 

"  Can  my  father  help  you  to  do  that,  Count?  " 
' '  My  dear  lady,  consider  his  position.  An  Eng- 
lish noble,  bearing  his  honored  name;  the  master 
of  great  riches — what  cannot  he  do  if  he  will? 
Let  him  say  but  one  word  to  my  Government  and 
the  affair  is  done.  I  shall  see  my  dear  father 
again — the  world  will  be  a  new  world  for  me.  My 
lord  has  but  to  speak. ' ' 

11  Is  it  possible  that  he  could  hesitate?  ' 
"  All  things  are  possible  where  human  folly  is 
concerned. ' ' 

11  Then  there  would  be  a  reason,  Count?  ' 
"  And  a  consequence,  Lady  Evelyn." 
"  Oh,"  she  said  quickly,  "  you  are  not  frank 
with  me  even  now. ' ' 

' '  So  frank  that  I  speak  to  you  as  I  never  spoke 
to  another  in  all  my  life.  You  are  the  only  person 
in  England  who  can  help  me  and  help  your  father 
to  do  well.  I  have  asked  him  for  the  liberty  of  a 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          143 

man  who  never  did  him  a  wrong.  He  has  refused 
to  answer  me,  yes  or  no.  Why  should  I  tell  you 
that  delay  is  dangerous1?  If  I  am  silent  a  little 
while,  do  you  not  guess  that  it  is  for  your  sake 
that  I  am  silent!  These  things  are  rarely  hidden 
from  clever  women.  Say  that  Count  Odin  has 
learned  to  be  a  lover  and  you  will  question  me 
no  more." 

They  were  in  a  lonely  glade,  dark  with  the  shade 
of  beeches,  when  he  made  this  apparently  honest 
declaration;  and  he  stood  before  her  forbidding 
her  to  advance  further  or  to  avoid  his  entreaty. 
Her  confusion,  natural  to  her  womanhood,  he  in- 
terpreted in  its  true  light.  "  She  does  not  love 
me,  but  there  is  that  in  her  blood  which  will  give 
me  command  over  her,"  he  said.  And  this  was 
the  precise  truth.  Evelyn  had,  from  the  first, 
been  fully  aware  of  the  strange  spell  this  man 
could  put  upon  her.  His  presence  seemed  to  her 
as  that  of  the  figure  of  evil  beckoning  her  to  wild 
pleasures  and  forbidden  gardens  of  delight. 
Strong  as  her  will  was,  this  she  could  not  combat. 
And  she  shrank  from  him,  helpless,  and  yet  aware 
of  his  power. 

"  You  are  speaking  to  me  of  grave  things," 
she  said  quietly.  "  My  own  feelings  must  not 
enter  into  them.  If  my  father  owes  this  debt  to 
you,  he  shall  pay  it.  I  will  be  no  part  of  the  price, 
Count  Odin." 

"  Car  a  mia,"  he  said,  taking  both  her  hands 
and  trying  to  draw  her  close  to  him,  "  I  care  not 
how  it  is  if  you  shall  say  you  love  me.  Do  not 
hide  the  truth  from  yourself.  Your  father  is  in 


144          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

great  danger.  You  can  save  him  from  the  penal- 
ties of  wrong.  Will  you  refuse  to  do  so  because 
I  love  you — love  you  as  I  have  never  believed  a 
man  could  love ;  love  you  as  my  father  loved  your 
mother  so  many  years  ago — with  the  love  of  a 
race  that  has  fought  for  women  and  died  for 
them;  a  race  which  is  deaf  when  a  women  says 
no,  which  follows  her,  cara  mia,  to  the  end  of  the 
earth  and  has  eyes  for  nothing  else  but  the  house 
which  shelters  her?  Will  you  do  this  when  your 
heart  can  command  me  as  you  will — saying, 
speak  or  be  silent,  forget  or  remember?  I  know 
you  better;  you  love  me,  Evelyn;  you  are  afraid 
to  tell  me,  but  you  love  me.  That  is  why  I  remain 
a  prisoner  of  this  house — because  you  love  mer 
and  I  shall  make  you  my  wife.  Ah,  cara  mia,  say 
it  but  once — I  love  you,  Georges,  the  son  of  my 
father's  friend — I  love  you  and  will  not  forbid 
your  words. ' ' 

A  strange  thrill  ran  through  Evelyn's  veins  as 
she  listened  to  this  passionate  declaration.  The 
frenzied  words  of  love  did  not  deceive  her.  This 
man,  she  thought,  would  so  speak  to  many  a 
woman  in  the  years  to  come.  A  better  wit  would 
have  concealed  his  purpose  and  rendered  him  less 
frank.  ' '  He  would  sell  his  father 's  liberty  at  my 
bidding,"  she  said,  and  the  thought  set  her  strug- 
gling in  his  arms,  flushed  with  anger  and  with 
shame. 

"  I  will  not  hear  you,  Count,"  she  cried  again 
and  again.  "  I  cannot  love  you — you  are  not  of 
my  people.  If  my  father  has  done  wrong,  he  shall 
repay.  He  is  not  so  helpless  that  he  cannot  save 


1  Oh  please  let  me  go ;  your  hands  hurt  me.     I  can  never  be  your 
wife,  never,  never!"     Chap.  15. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          145 

me  from  this.  Oh,  please  let  me  go;  your  hands 
hurt  me.  I  can  never  be  your  wife,  never, 
never!  ' 

He  released  her  reluctantfy,  for  his  quick  ear 
had  caught  the  sound  of  a  horse  galloping  upon 
the  open  grass  beyond  the  thicket. 

*  '  You  will  answer  me  differently  another  day, '  > 
he  said  smilingly;  "  meanwhile,  car  a  mia,  there 
are  two  secrets  to  keep — yours  and  mine.  If  the 
charming  Lady  Evelyn  will  not  hear  me,  I  must 
remember  Etta  Romney,  a  young  lady  of  my 
acquaintance — ah,  you  know  her  too;  and  that  is 
well  for  her.  Let  us  return  to  the  house.  My  lord 
will  have  much  to  say  to  me  and  I  to  him. ' ' 

They  went  up  to  the  Hall  together  in  silence. 
Evelyn  knew  how  much  she  was  in  his  power  and 
how  idle  her  veiled  threats  had  been. 

She  could  save  her  father  from  this  man — truly. 
But  at  what  a  price ! 

"  Etta  Romney  would  marry  him,"  she  said 
bitterly;  "  but  I — Evelyn — God  help  me  to  be 
true  to  myself !  ' ' 


CHAPTER   XVI 

A   GAME   OF   GOLF 

GOLF  at  Moretown  is  * '  by  favor  of  the  Lord  of 
the  Manor  "  played  across  a  corner  of  the  home 
park,  so  remote  from  Melbourne  Hall  that  you 
have  a  vista  of  that  fine  old  house  but  rarely  from 
the  trees,  and  nowhere  at  all  if  you  be  an  ardent 
player. 

Such  a  description  could  in  all  sincerity  have 
been  applied  to  either  of  our  old  friends  Dr.  Phil- 
ips and  the  Rev.  Harry  Fillimore,  the  vicar  of  the 
parish.  They  played  the  game  as  though  all  their 
worldly  hope  depended  upon  it.  The  best  of 
friends  at  common  times,  difficulty  could  provoke 
them  to  such  violent  hostilities  that  they  did  not 
speak  a  word  to  each  other  until  the  after-luncheon 
glass  of  port  had  been  slowly  sipped.  Intimate  in 
their  knowledge  each  of  the  other,  the  Vicar  knew 
exactly  when  to  cough  that  the  Doctor's  forcible 
exclamations  might  not  be  overheard  by  the  cad- 
dies. The  Doctor,  upon  his  part,  sympathized 
very  cordially  with  the  Vicar  when  that  worthy 
found  himself  in  a  bunker.  ' '  Harry,  my  dear  boy, 
pray  remember  where  you  are,"  he  would  say, 
and  to  give  him  his  due,  the  Vicar  rarely  forgot 
the  number  of  strokes  necessary  to  extract  him- 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          147 

self  from  one  of  these  many  vales  of  tears  which 
abounded  at  Moretown. 

Other  moments,  it  should  be  observed,  were 
those  of  mutual  admiration. 

"  If  you  could  only  putt  as  well  as  you  can 
drive,  you  might  play  Vardon,"  the  Vicar  would 
tell  the  Doctor. 

To  which  the  reply  would  be: 

"  My  dear  Harry,  Taylor  could  not  play  a  bet- 
ter approach  than  that.  You  '11  be  down  to  scratch 
if  you  go  on  improving  in  this  way." 

Needless  to  say,  such  enthusiasm  demanded 
complete  absorption  in  the  game  and  tolerated  no 
liberties.  If  anyone  had  told  the  Doctor  of  the 
fall  of  Port  Arthur  at  the  moment  of  his  playing 
an  approach,  that  man  assuredly  would  have  de- 
served any  fate  that  overtook  him.  When  the 
stove  in  the  vestry  set  fire  to  the  chancel  roof  and 
did  five  hundred  pounds  worth  of  damage  to  More- 
town  Church,  no  one  had  the  courage  to  tell  the 
Vicar  until  he  had  holed  out  on  the  eighteenth 
green.  "  Words  won't  put  the  roof  on  again,'* 
the  sexton  wisely  said,  "  and  a  precious  lot  of 
words  you'll  get  from  'ee  while  'ee's  playin'  with 
his  ball."  So  the  doleful  news  was  reserved  for 
the  Club  House.  * '  I  really  fear  I  ought  not  to  play 
a  second  round,"  the  Vicar  exclaimed  when  he 
heard  it;  "  most  vexing,  I  must  say." 

These  being  the  circumstances  of  the  weekly 
duel  a  entrance,  it  certainly  was  astonishing  to 
discover  the  Vicar  and  the  Doctor  talking  of  any 
other  subject  but  golf  on  a  day  of  July  some  three 
weeks  after  Count  Odin's  arrival  at  Melbourne 


148         THE    LADY    EVELYN 

Hall.  Strange  to  say,  however,  they  discussed 
neither  the  merits  of  the  cut  nor  the  doubtful  wis- 
dom of  running  up  approach;  but  playing  their 
strokes  with  some  indifference  as  to  the  attending 
consequences,  they  spoke  of  my  -lord  of  Mel- 
bourne and  of  the  turn  affairs  at  the  Hall  were 
taking.  To  be  entirely  candid,  the  Vicar  left  the 
main  part  of  the  talk  to  the  Doctor ;  for  the  secret 
which  he  carried  he  had  as  yet  no  courage  to  tell 
to  anyone. 

"  Most  extraordinary — not  the  same  man,  sir, 
by  twenty  years.  If  he  were  a  woman,  I  would 
call  it  neurasthenia  and  back  my  opinion  for  a 
Haskell.  What  do  you  think  of  a  sane  human 
being  letting  a  lot  of  dirty  gypsies  have  the  free 
run  of  the  Hall ;  in  and  out  like  rabbits  in  a  warren 
— drinking  his  best  wines  and  riding  his  horses, 
and  lots  more  besides  that  the  servants  hint  at 
but  won 't  talk  about  f  Why,  they  tell  me  that  he 's 
up  half  the  night  with  the  scum  sometimes,  as 
wild  as  the  rest  of  them  when  they  fiddle  and  caper 
in  the  Long  Gallery.  What's  common  sense  to 
make  of  it?  What  do  you  make  of  it,  leaving  com- 
mon sense  out  of  the  matter?  ' 

The  Vicar  looked  somewhat  askance  at  the 
dubious  compliment;  nor  did  it  encourage  him  to 
tell  of  the  strange  sights  he  had  seen  in  Melbourne 
Park  some  twelve  hours  before  this  epoch-making 
encounter. 

"  I  hear  the  men  are  Eoumanians,"  he  said, 
taking  a  brussie  from  his  bag  and  making  an 
atrocious  shot  with  it.  "  Of  course  the  Earl — 
this  is  miserable — the  Earl  was  in  Eoumania  as  a 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          149 

young  man.  Perhaps  he  is  returning  some  cour- 
tesy these  wild  fellows  showed  to  him.  You  play 
the  odd,  I  think." 

*  *  Odd  or  the  like,  I  don 't  care  a — that  is  to  say, 
it  is  most  extraordinary.  Why,  they're  bandits, 
Harry — bandits,  I  tell  you,  and,  unless  Mrs.  Filli- 
niore  looks  out,  they'll  carry  her  off  to  Matlock 
Tor  and  hold  her  out  to  ransom — perhaps  while 
we're  on  the  links.  A  pretty  advertisement  you'd 
get  if  that  came  off.  A  Vicar's  wife  stolen  by 
brigands.  The  Reverend  Gentleman  on  the  Q. 
Tee.  Think  of  it  in  the  evening  papers!  How 
some  of  them  would  chaff  you!  ' 

The  Vicar  played  an  approach  shot  and  said, 
"This  is  really  deplorable."  He  would  have  pre- 
ferred to  talk  golf;  but  the  Doctor  gave  him  no 
rest,  and  so  he  said  presently: 

"  I  wonder  what  Lady  Evelyn  thinks  of  it  all! 
She  went  by  me  in  the  car  yesterday  and  Bates 
was  driving  her.  Now,  I've  never  seen  that  be- 
fore. .  .  .  God  bless  me,  what  a  shocking 
stroke!  " 

He  shook  his  head  as  the  ball  went  skimming 
over  the  ground  into  the  deepest  and  most  terrible 
bunker  on  Moretown  Links — the  Doctor  following 
it  with  that  sympathetic  if  hypocritical  gaze  we 
turn  upon  an  enemy's  misfortunes.  Impossible 
not  to  better  such  a  miserable  exhibition,  he 
thought.  Unhappy  man,  game  of  delight,  the  two 
were  playing  from  the  bunker  together  before  a 
minute  had  passed! 

"  You  and  I  would  certainly  do  better  at  the 
mangle  if  this  goes  on,"  the  Doctor  exclaimed 


150          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

with  honest  conviction;  "  the  third  bunker  I've 
found  to-day.  A  man  cannot  be  well  who  does 
that" 

"  Eheumatism,  undoubtedly,"  the  Viear  said 
slyly. 

A  boyish  laugh  greeted  the  thrust. 

"  Shall  we  call  it  curiosity?  Hang  the  game! 
What  does  it  matter?  You  put  a  bit  of  india- 
rubber  into  a  flower-pot  and  think  you  are  a  bet- 
ter man  than  I  am.  But  you're  not.  I'd  play  you 
any  day  for  the  poor-box.  Let 's  talk  of  something 
else — Lady  Evelyn,  for  instance. ' ' 

"  Will  she  marry  him,  Frederick?  ' 

"  Him — the  sandy-haired  foreigner  with  the 
gypsy  friends?  ' 

"  Is  there  any  other  concerned?  ' 

11  Oh,  don't  ask  me.  Do  I  keep  her  pocket- 
book?  " 

"  I  wish  you  did,  my  dear  fellow.  From  every 
point  of  view,  this  marriage  would  be  deplorable. ' ' 

11  From  every  point  of  view  but  that  of  the 
two  people  concerned,  perhaps.  She  is  a  girl  with 
a  will  of  her  own — do  you  think  she  would  marry 
him  if  she  didn't  like  him?  " 

"  She  might,  from  spite.  There  are  better 
reasons,  perhaps  worse.  You  told  me  at  their  first 
meeting  that  you  believed  her  to  be  in  love  with 
him." 

"  I  was  an  idiot.  Let's  finish  the  round.  The 
man  will  probably  live  to  be  hanged — what  does 
it  matter?  " 

"  Well,  if  it  doesn't  matter  to  you,  it  matters 
to  nobody.  I'll  tell  you  something  queer — a  thing 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          151 

I  saw  last  night.  It's  been  in  my  head  all  day. 
I'll  tell  you  as  we  go  to  the  next  green." 

They  drove  a  couple  of  good  balls  and  set  out 
from  the  tee  with  lighter  hearts.  As  they  went, 
the  Vicar  unburdened  himself  of  that  secret  which 
golf  alone  could  have  prevented  him  disclosing 
an  hour  ago. 

"  I  told  you  that  I  dined  with  Sir  John  Hall  last 
night, ' '  he  said  in  a  low  voice ; ' '  well,  young  John 
drove  me  home,  and,  of  course,  he  went  through  the 
Park.  Poor  boy,  his  case  is  quite  hopeless.  He 
drives  his  horse  to  death  round  and  round  the 
house  on  the  off  chance  of  seeing  the  flash  of  her 
gown  between  the  trees.  Well,  he  drove  me 
home  and  just  as  we  entered  the  Park,  what  do 
you  think — why,  three  or  four  men  passed  us  at 
the  gallop — soldiers,  I  say,  in  white  uniforms  with 
gold  sashes  and  gold  sword-hilts.  I  saw  them  as 
plainly  as  I  see  you  now — the  Earl  was  one  of 
them — the  young  Count  another.  Now,  what  do  you 
think  of  it?  Are  they  mad,  or  is  some  great  jest 
being  played?  I  give  it  up.  This  sort  of  thing  is 
beyond  my  experience — it  should  be  a  case  for 
you,  Frederick,  though  if  you  can  make  anything 
of  it,  I'm  a  Dutchman." 

The  Doctor  shook  his  head.  He  did  not  doubt 
the  truth  of  the  Vicar's  story,  but  he  made  be- 
lieve to  doubt  it. 

"  You  dined  with  John  Hall,  Harry?  " 

"  I  have  told  you  so." 

"  Sixty-three  port,  I  suppose,  on  the  top  of 
champagne?  " 

"  That  is  mere  foolishness,  Frederick." 


152          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

' '  Admittedly,  forgive  me — I  can  be  serious  and 
am.  Here's  an  affair  which  a  man  might  write 
about  in  text-books.  This  grown  man  puts  on  a 
coat  he  may  have  worn  in  his  youth  and  rides 
like  a  steeplechaser  through  the  Park.  Why  does 
he  do  it?  What's  he  after?  I'll  tell  you,  his  lost 
youth,  that 's  what  he 's  after.  Trying  to  catch  up 
Time  and  give  the  fellow  the ,  go-by.  I  Ve  seen 
that  disease  in  many  shapes,  but  this  is  a  new 
one.  Try  to  think  it  out.  This  young  Count  comes 
over  from  Roumania;  he  brings  these  gypsy  ras- 
cals with  him.  Their  tongue,  their  dress,  their 
music,  speak  to  the  Earl  as  his  youth  used  to  speak 
to  him.  He's  living  for  a  moment  a  life  he  lived 
thirty  years  ago.  I  can  see  him  grasping  at  the 
straws  of  youth  every  time  I  go  up  to  the  Hall. 
These  midnight  carousals  are  so  much  midnight 
madness.  The  man  is  saying  to  Age,  you  shall 
not  have  me.  Ten  years  of  respectability  go  at 
one  fell  swoop.  He'd  sell  those  he  loved  best  on 
earth  to  win  back  one  year  of  the  days  which  have 
been.  That's  my  diagnosis.  The  bacillus,  La 
Jeunesse!  And  that's  a  bacillus  you  cannot  cure, 
Harry." 

He  was  in  deadly  earnest  and  the  Vicar  looked 
grave  enough.  In  his  dim  way,  he  understood  the 
Doctor  and  believed  him  to  be  speaking  the  truth. 
Lord  Melbourne  had  been  an  enigma  to  him  from 
the  first;  an  aristocrat  and  not  an  aristocrat; 
one  of  the  Melbournes  and  yet  an  alien;  a  man 
whose  mask  of  reservation  the  keenest  eyes  could 
not  pierce;  a  silent  man  when  one  asked  for  that 
key  by  which  alone  the  secret  chambers  of  his 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          153 

mind  could  be  entered.  Of  such  a  one  any  fable 
might  be  told  and  believed.  The  Vicar  under- 
stood that  he  had  come  face  to  face  with  some 
mystery;  but  of  its  witnesses  he  could  make 
nothing. 

' '  I  do  believe  you  are  right, ' '  he  said  at  length ; 
"  there  have  been  tales  as  strange  in  the  story  of 
the  house — generally  concerning  a  lady,  I  fear 
At  least  Evelyn  can  know  nothing  of  this,"  he 
added  a  little  thoughtfully;  "  it  would  be  a  great 
misfortune  for  her." 

"  Heritage  has  little  regard  for  the  fortunes  of 
others,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  I  don't  suppose  she 
would  have  married  an  Englishman — she's  not 
the  girl  to  do  it.  That  comes  of  educating  them 
abroad — I  would  sooner  send  a  daughter  of  mine 
to  fight  the  Russians  than  to  a  school  in  Paris. 
Make  Englishwomen  of  them,  I  say,  and  leave  the 
fal-de-lals  alone.  What's  it  worth  to  a  girl  if 
she  can  jabber  French  and  has  lost  her  English 
heart?  No,  my  dear  Vicar,  England  for  me  and 
English  roses  for  my  home.  Evelyn  will  marry 
this  man  because  France  taught  her  to  think  well 
of  foreigners.  If  she  had  gone  to  a  Derbyshire 
school,  he  might  as  well  have  proposed  to  Cleo- 
patra's monument  on  the  Thames  Embankment. 
I'm  sorry  for  her,  truly,  but  words  won't  change 
the  thing,  and  that's  the  end  of  it.  Let's  go  and 
lunch.  We  have  done  nothing  ill  for  one  morning, 
any  way. 

They  went  to  lunch  and  afterward  to  the  busi- 
ness of  a  common  day.  As  it  fell  out,  they  did 
not  meet  again  until  after  church  upon  the  fol- 


154          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

lowing  Sunday,  when  the  Vicar,  still  wearing  his 
surplice  as  he  crossed  from  the  vestry  to  the  par- 
sonage, found  the  Doctor  waiting  for  him  with 
the  air  of  one  who  has  important  tidings  and 
must  impart  them  quickly. 

11  No  bad  news  from  the  Hall?  "  he  exclaimed, 
so  much  was  that  great  house  now  in  his  mind. 

The  Doctor,  however,  drew  him  aside  and  told 
him  in  a  word. 

"  The  Count's  gone,"  he  said  quickly.  "  He 
comes  back  in  October.  The  Earl  told  me  so  him- 
self. She 's  to  marry  him  in  the  winter,  and  that 's 
the  end  of  it,  Harry." 

The  Vicar  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"  The  beginning  of  it,  Frederick,  the  begin- 
ning, ' '  he  said  wisely. 


BOOK   II 
THE  ENGLISHMAN 


CHAPTER 

GAVIN  OKD   BEGINS   HIS   WOEK 

IN  what  manner  Gavin  Ord  arrived  at  Mel- 
bourne Hall  and  took  up  his  residence  there  has 
already  been  recorded  in  the  early  pages  of  this 
narrative. 

He  came  upon  a  night  in  August,  three  weeks 
precisely  after  the  departure  of  Count  Odin  for 
Bukharest.  Of  the  people  of  the  Hall  he  knew 
little  save  that  which  common  gossip  and  the 
tittle-tattle  of  the  newspapers  had  taught  him; 
nor  was  his  the  temperament  to  be  troubled  over- 
much by  the  strange  hallucination  which  had  at- 
tended his  journey  from  Moretown  to  the  Manor. 
That  which  some  people  would  have  called  an 
apparition,  he  attributed  to  fatigue  and  the  hour 
of  the  night;  and  while  an  uneasy  feeling  that 
this  simple  account  of  it  might  not  ultimately  sat- 
isfy him  was  not  to  be  lightly  dismissed,  the  hos- 
pitalities of  the  great  house  and  the  work  to  which 
he  had  been  called  there  quickly  dispelled  the  im- 
pression of  it,  and  left  him  with  some  shame  that 
he  had  been  such  an  easy  victim  to  a  vulgar  de- 


156          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

lusion.  For  the  rest,  curiosity  remained  the  only 
intruder  between  him  and  the  work  he  had  been 
summoned  to  do. 

The  Lady  Evelyn!  Where  had  he  seen  her 
before?  How  came  it  that  her  face  was  so  famil- 
iar to  him? 

Every  hour  that  he  lived  at  the  Hall  quickened 
this  impression  of  familiarity.  Her  very  voice 
could  make  him  start,  as  though  one  whom  he  knew 
well  were  speaking  to  him.  Her  stately  move- 
ments, her  gestures,  tormented  his  memory  as 
though  inciting  it  to  recall  forgotten  scenes  for 
him.  At  the  luncheon  table,  upon  the  second  day, 
he  made  bold  to  tell  her  of  his  immovable  idea. 

"  We  have  met  somewhere,  Lady  Evelyn,"  he 
said, '  *  I  cannot  tell  where ;  but  it  was  in  some  such 
house  as  this — in  the  gardens  of  such  a  house. 
And  that  is  odd,  for  to  my  knowledge  I  was  never 
in  a  Tudor  house  before.  Now,  say  that  I  am 
dreaming  it;  that  it  is  just  one  of  those  foolish 
ideas  which  come  to  one  in  sleep  and  are  remem- 
bered when  waking.  It  could  hardly  be  anything 
else,  of  course." 

Evelyn  flushed  crimson  while  he  was  speaking; 
but  she  retained  her  composure  sufficiently  to  de- 
clare that  she  had  no  recollection  of  such  an 
occasion. 

' '  We  rarely  go  from  here, ' '  she  said  evasively. 
11  I  cannot  recollect  visiting  any  Tudor  house  in 
England — you  see  so  many,  Mr.  Ord.  It  would 
be  natural  to  have  such  an  idea,  I  think. ' ' 

"  Oh,  perfectly  and  perhaps  foolish.  Our 
brains  play  us  strange  tricks,  and,  often  enough, 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          157 

the  wildest  of  them  have  the  least  meaning.  I 
know  a  man  in  Paris  who  dreamed  three  nights 
running  that  he  would  be  thrown  out  of  a  motor- 
car on  his  way  to  Monte  Carlo.  He  put  off  the 
visit  in  consequence  and  was  knocked  down  next 
day  by  a  cab  in  the  Rue  Quatre  Septembre.  I 
don't  mean  to  say  that  he  was  killed,  but  he  had 
a  nasty  fall,  and  that  was  the  price  he  paid  for 
dreaming.  I  try  to  dismiss  these  things  as  soon 
as  they  come  to  me.  Here's  a  case  in  point.  You 
and  I  clearly  have  never  met — unless  it  were  in 
London,"  he  added,  with  another  keen  glance  at 
her. 

Evelyn  could  not  suppress  the  high  color  in  her 
cheeks,  and  they  were  crimson  when  she  found  her 
father's  eyes  watching  her  curiously  as  though 
some  train  of  thought  had  been  set  in  motion  by 
the  argument.  Perfectly  well  did  she  know  that 
Gavin  Ord  had  seen  her  in  London,  on  the  stage 
of  the  Carlton  Theatre;  and  that  discovery  had 
looked  her  in  the  face  twice  in  as  many  months 
This  time,  however,  she  feared  it  less ;  for  she  had 
come  to  believe  by  this  time  that  she  would  pres- 
ently be  compelled  to  tell  her  story  to  all  the 
world  before  many  weeks  had  passed. 

"  We  are  not  often  in  London,"  the  Earl  said 
dryly;  "  with  such  a  house  as  this,  why  should 
we  be  f  Lady  Evelyn  cares  nothing  for  society.  I 
regard  it  as  the  refuge  of  the  mentally  destitute. 
If  I  travel,  it  is  from  one  solitude  to  another.  A 
man  is  never  so  much  master  of  himself  and  of 
the  world  as  when  he  is  alone.  Can  we  consider 
the  modern  life  as  anything  but  a  glorification  of 


158          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

the  aggregate  and  not  of  the  individual!  Your 
profession  is  the  best  friend  you  have,  Mr.  Ord. 
Those  who  follow  noble  ends  establish  nobility 
in  their  own  characters.  That's  a  creed  I  wish  I 
had  known  twenty  years  ago.  You  are  a  young 
man  and  should  recite  it  every  day  while  your 
youth  remains  to  you." 

Gavin  replied  that  a  man  was  neither  older  nor 
younger  than  his  ideas;  and  the  drift  of  the  con- 
versation being  changed,  to  Evelyn's  evident  re- 
lief, they  fell  again  to  their  plans  for  the  restora- 
tion of  the  Hall  and  that  which  must  be  done 
before  the  wet  weather  set  in.  Until  this  time, 
Evelyn  had  scarcely  noticed  Gavin  or  taken  any 
interest  in  his  coming  to  the  Manor.  The  truce 
between  her  father  and  herself  left  her  in  a  dream- 
world from  which  there  appeared  to  be  no  gate 
of  escape  whatever.  She  had  neither  counsellor 
nor  friend.  To  Count  Odin  she  had  said,  "  You 
shall  have  my  answer  in  three  months'  time." 
Her  father's  almost  passionate  desire  for  this 
marriage,  which  his  own  youth  had  contrived, 
won  from  her  no  promise  more  definite  than  that 
which  she  had  given  to  the  Count.  The  time  had 
passed  for  any  but  the  frankest  expressions  upon 
either  side.  In  the  plainest  words,  the  Earl  told 
her  that  this  Roumanian  had  crossed  Europe  to 
demand  the  liberty  of  a  man  who  had  long  been 
but  a  number  in  a  prison  upon  the  shores  of 
the  Black  Sea. 

"  Let  Georges  Odin  be  released,"  he  had  said, 
"  and  unless  you  are  his  son's  wife,  he  will  kill 
me." 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          159 

Lady  Evelyn  knew  this  to  be  no  chimera  of 
weakness  or  fear.  The  vengeance  of  the  moun- 
tains would  follow  Kobert  Forrester  even  to  the 
glades  of  Derbyshire.  Witnesses  to  the  truth  still 
pitched  their  tents  beneath  the  giant  yews — the 
smoke  of  the  gypsy  camp  drifted  day  by  day,  blue 
and  lingering  over  the  waters  of  the  river.  From 
these  there  was  no  escape,  for  they  were  the  sen- 
tinels of  the  absent  Count's  honor,  and  they 
dogged  the  Earl's  footsteps  wherever  he  turned. 
When  Gavin  Ord  appeared  at  the  Manor,  their 
suspicions  were  instantly  aroused.  They  hid  from 
him,  and  yet  watched  him  every  hour.  Who  was 
he;  whence  had  he  come?  And  was  he  also  the 
enemy  of  the  man  who  had  been  Zallony's  friend? 
This  they  made  it  their  purpose  to  discover,  en- 
tering even  Gavin's  bedroom  for  that  purpose. 

He  was  very  far  from  being  a  timid  man  or  the 
episode  referred  to  would  quickly  have  driven  him 
from  Derbyshire,  despite  the  engrossing  interest 
of  the  work  to  which  he  had  been  called  there. 
This  was  the  third  day  of  his  residence  at  the  Hall. 
Being  left  to  himself  immediately  after  dinner,  he 
continued  to  draw  for  an  hour  and  to  read  for 
another  before  courting  sleep  in  the  great  black 
bed  which  tradition,  loving  the  slumbers  of  kings, 
had  allotted  in  its  accustomed  way  to  that  very 
wakeful  person,  James  II.  His  bedroom  was  high 
up  in  the  northern  tower  of  the  house;  a  low- 
pitched  spacious  apartment  with  some  fine  Chip- 
pendale chairs  in  it  and  a  dressing-table  for  which 
any  Bond  Street  dealer  would  cheerfully  have 
paid  a  thousand  pounds.  Gavin  delighted  in  these 


160          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

things  because  he  was  an  artist ;  while  the  attend- 
ant luxury,  the  service  of  man  and  valet,  the 
superb  fittings  of  the  bathroom  adjoining  his 
bedroom,  the  fruit,  the  cigarettes,  the  books  which 
decorated  the  apartment,  seemed  in  some  way  to 
be  the  reward  of  his  own  labors,  not  to  speak  of 
the  attainments  of  long-cherished  ambitions. 

To  this  historic  chamber  he  retired  on  the 
evening  of  the  third  day,  and  having  added  a  little 
to  his  plans,  read  some  pages  of  a  county  history 
and  smoked  a  final  and  contemplative  pipe,  he 
undressed  and  got  into  bed,  and  for  an  hour  or 
more  slept  that  refreshing  sleep  which  attends 
judicious  success  and  a  mind  little  given  to  trivi- 
alities. From  this,  against  all  habit,  he  passed  to 
dreams,  at  first  welcome  and  pleasing;  dreams 
of  broad  acres  and  sheltering  trees  and  a  land  of 
plenty — then  to  visions. more  disturbing,  and  to 
one,  chiefly  of  a  storm  passing  over  the  woods  and 
his  own  spirit  abroad  in  the  storm  and  unable  to 
find  harborage.  As  a  weary  bird  that  can  reach 
no  shelter  and  is  buffeted  by  every  wind,  so  did 
he,  in  his  dream,  appear  to  be  cast  out  from  the 
world  and  unable  to  return  to  his  home  and  kin 
dred;  a  wanderer  through  a  tempestuous  night, 
beyond  whose  horizon,  far  beyond  it  but  ever 
growing  more  distant,  there  arose  the  crimson 
light  of  day  and  the  dawning  beams  of  the  hidden 
sun.  Strive  as  he  would  he  could  not  cast  the 
darkness  from  him  or  shut  out  the  sounds  of  wild 
winds  blowing  in  his  ears.  Unseen  hands  held 
him  back;  voices  mocked  him;  he  heard  the  rus- 
tling of  wings  and  was  conscious  of  the  movements 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          161 

of  unknown  figures.  And  then  he  awoke  to  find 
a  light  shining  full  in  his  face  and  to  see  two  black 
eyes  peering  down  at  him  beyond  it.  But  for  an 
instant  he  saw  them ;  then  the  light  was  blown  out 
swiftly  and  utter  darkness  fell.  He  knew  that  he 
was  not  alone;  but  feared  nothing,  he  knew  not 
why. 

Some  man  had  entered  his  room  while  he  slept 
and  stood,  he  imagined,  even  at  that  moment  so 
close  to  his  bedside  that  he  had  but  to  put  out  a 
hand  to  touch  him.  Who  the  man  was  or  what 
his  errand  might  be,  Gavin  did  not  attempt  even 
to  guess.  More  by  force  of  habit  than  from  any 
other  reason,  he  asked  aloud, ' '  Who  is  there,  what 
do  you  want?  " — but  he  did  not  expect  to  be 
answered,  nor  did  any  sound  follow  his  question. 
Lying  quite  still  upon  the  bed  and  beginning  to 
be  a  little  alarmed  as  his  senses  came  back  to  him, 
he  listened  intently  for  an  echo  of  footsteps 
across  the  polished  floor,  arguing  that  the  un- 
known man  would  wear  no  boots  and  must  turn  the 
handle  of  a  door  to  go.  This  was  no  burglar,  he 
felt  sure;  and  he  was  half  willing  to  believe  that 
he  had  dreamed  the  whole  episode  when  a  footfall 
made  itself  plainly  audible,  and  was  followed  by 
a  deep  breath  as  of  one  who  until  that  time  had 
been  afraid  to  breathe  at  all.  Again  Gavin  askedy 
"  What  is  it,  what  do  you  want?  "  The  silence 
continued  unbroken,  and  the  fear  of  things  un- 
known robbed  him  for  the  moment  of  the  voice 
to  repeat  the  question.  This  he  set  down  after- 
ward to  the  traditions  of  Melbourne  Hall  and  his 


162          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

intimate  knowledge  of  them.  He  would  not  have 
been  afraid  in  any  other  house. 

Gavin  stretched  out  his  hand  and  tried  to  switch 
on  the  electric  light.  A  clumsy  effort  in  an  un- 
familiar room  found  him  passing  his  fingers  idly 
over  a  wainscoted  wall;  and  when  he  felt  for  the 
reading  lamp  by  his  bedside,  he  overturned  it  with 
his  elbow  and  could  not  replace  the  plug  which 
his  maladroitness  had  detached.  Alarmed  now  as 
he  never  believed  that  any  situation  could  alarm 
him,  he  sprang  from  his  bed  and  felt  with  both 
hands  extended  for  the  figure  which  the  room  con- 
cealed. Hither,  thither,  with  an  oath  upon  his 
clumsiness,  he  sought  the  unknown,  his  hands 
touching  unfamiliar  objects,  the  darkness  seeming 
almost  to  mock  him.  That  the  unknown  man  was 
still  in  the  room  he  had  no  doubt  whatever;  for 
the  interludes  repeated  the  sound  of  quick  breath- 
ing and  he  heard  a  garment  rustling  just  as  he 
had  heard  it  in  his  sleep.  Once,  indeed,  he  felt 
the  warm  breath  upon  his  cheek  and  struck  sav- 
agely at  an  enemy  of  sounds,  who  still  uttered  no 
word  nor  would  acknowledge  his  presence.  Had 
he  been  calmer,  he  might  have  known  that  the 
darkness  also  deceived  the  intruder  and  that  he 
too  was  at  a  loss  to  escape ;  but  this  Gavin  did  not 
discover  until  the  door  opened  suddenly  and  a 
flash  of  light  from  the  corridor  struck  across  the 
room  like  a  sunbeam  suddenly  admitted  by  a  lifted 
blind.  Then  he  saw  the  face  of  the  escaping  man 
for  the  second  time  and  stood  amazed  at  its 
familiarity. 

"  The  old  gypsy  I  saw  in  the  park  yesterday 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          163 

walking  with  the  Earl,"  he  said,  astounded,  and 
then,  "  What  in  the  devil's  name  is  he  doing 
here?  " 

That  should  not  have  been  a  difficult  question, 
to  answer,  and  Gavin  instantly  determined  to 
make  no  mention  of  it  until  the  morning.  The 
fellow  was  probably  a  thief,  who  had  the  run  of 
the  house  and  had  taken  advantage  of  its  master's 
forbearance.  It  would  be  sufficient  to  name  the 
circumstance  at  the  breakfast  table  and  to  leave 
the  rest  to  the  Earl,  who  could  act  in  the  matter 
as  he  pleased.  None  the  less,  Gavin  found  his 
nerves  much  shaken  and  sleep  for  the  remainder 
of  the  night  was  out  of  the  question.  Switching 
on  every  lamp  in  his  room,  and  locking  and  bolting 
the  heavy  door,  he  sat  by  the  open  window  and 
asked  himself  into  what  house  of  mysteries  he  had 
stumbled  and  what  secrets  it  was  about  to  reveal 
to  him.  But  chiefly  he  asked  where  he  had  met  the 
Lady  Evelyn  before  .  .  .  and  memory  be- 
friending him  suddenly,  as  memory  will  at  a 
crisis,  he  exclaimed  aloud : 

"  The  Carlton  Theatre— Haddon  Hall— Etta 
Eomney,  by  all  that's  amazing!  ' 

Was  the  thought  also  a  chimera  of  the  night? 
He  knew  not  what  to  think.  The  dawn  found  him 
still  at  his  window  debating  it. 


CHAPTER 

A  DUEL  OVEE   THE   TEA-CUPS 

GAVIN  had  always  been  an  early  riser  and  one 
who  flouted  the  modern  idea  that  the  world  should 
be  aired  before  men  went  abroad.  Faithful  to 
his  habit,  the  following  morning  found  him  riding 
in  the  park  a  little  after  seven  o'clock;  and  not 
until  the  sweet  cold  air  of  the  highlands  had 
recompensed  him  for  a  waking  night  did  he  return 
to  the  Hall  and  the  generous  breakfast  table  there 
spread  for  him.  A  professed  disciple  of  the  sim- 
ple life,  Gavin  confessed  that  the  Earl's  lavish 
hospitalities  were  altogether  too  much  for  his 
philosophy ;  and  he  ate  and  drank  with  the  hearty 
relish  of  one  to  whom  these  unending  luxuries 
were  both  a  revelation  in  the  art  of  living  and  a 
satire  upon  the  habits  of  the  rich. 

What  vast  quantities  of  food  were  heaped  upon 
that  priceless  sideboard — in  dishes  of  shining  sil- 
ver, each  warmed  by  the  clear  flame  of  a  silver 
lamp  beneath.  Lift  a  lid  of  one  of  those  granaries 
and  there  you  would  espy  an  omelet  which  none 
but  a  man  from  Paris  could  cook.  Peep  into  an- 
other and  there  are  eggs  prepared  so  cunningly 
that  they  would  melt  the  heart  of  Master  Fastidity 
himself.  Fish  and  fowl  and  flesh,  great  red  joints 
upon  the  buffet,  exquisite  peaches  from  the  hot- 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          165 

houses,  bunches  of  grapes  that  would  have  taken 
prizes  in  any  show — how  ironical  to  remember  the 
class  of  man  who  usually  sat  to  such  a  table,  his 
ennui,  his  distaste,  and  the  abstinence  cure  the 
physicians  compelled  him  to  practise.  Gavin  was 
just  a  hearty  Englishman,  fit  and  strenuous  and 
needing  no  "  waters  "  to  make  life  endurable. 
He  took  what  came  to  him  and  made  no  bones 
about  it.  Had  he  been  a  rich  man  himself,  he 
would  have  done  the  same,  he  thought.  Humbug 
was  no  part  of  his  creed,  and  he  never  mistook 
necessity  for  self-sacrifice. 

The  Earl  had  not  come  down  when  he  entered 
the  famous  breakfast-room,  and,  not  a  little  to 
his  satisfaction,  he  found  himself  alone  with  Lady 
Evelyn  for  the  first  time  since  his  arrival  at  the 
Manor.  A  student  of  faces  always,  he  studied 
this  face  to-day  with  a  curiosity  which  he  set  down 
to  his  own  delusions  rather  than  to  an  absolute 
interest  in  the  personality  of  a  stranger.  A  beau- 
tiful woman  he  had  admitted  her  to  be  when  first 
he  saw  her  by  her  father's  side  upon  the  night 
which  carried  him  to  the  Hall.  But  now  his 
scrutiny  went  deeper,  and,  so  far  as  opportunity 
served,  he  looked  at  her  as  one  seeking  a  woman's 
secret,  and  seeking  it  with  a  man's  desire  to  help 
her. 

And  first  he  said  that  it  was  an  English  face  in 
repose,  and  yet  not  an  English  face  when  the  re- 
pose was  lost.  The  masses  of  jet  black  hair  would 
have  excited  no  surprise  upon  the  Corso  at  Rome 
or  shining  in  an  aureole  cast  out  from  a  Floren- 
tine window.  Here,  in  England,  the  tresses  spoke 


166          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

of  the  South  and  its  suns — and  yet,  in  flat  contra- 
diction, the  perfect  skin,  smooth  and  silky  as  the 
leaf  of  a  pink  white  rose,  could  tell  of  English 
lanes  and  sunless  days  and  the  kinder  climate  of 
the  North.  Character  he  read  in  the  firm  contour 
of  her  chin — romance  and  passion  in  the  deep  blue 
of  her  eyes  and  the  modulations  of  a  voice  whose 
music  had  not  been  lost  in  the  roaring  Saturnalia 
of  the  modern  salon.  That  he  himself  had  so 
far  failed  to  attract  her  notice  was  a  fact  which 
neither  wounded  his  vanity  nor  abated  his  interest. 
It  had  been  the  first  maxim  of  his  life  to  hasten 
slowly,  and  to  no  pursuit  was  this  maxim  more 
necessary  than  to  that  of  friendship. 

This,  then,  was  the  estimate  which  one  strong 
personality  formed  of  another ;  the  man  saying  to 
himself,  "  I  would  read  this  woman's  heart!  "  the 
woman  asking  herself  if  she  must  talk  architecture 
until  the  Earl  came  to  her  assistance.  Breaking 
the  ice  with  a  common  observation,  she  remarked 
that  she  had  seen  him  galloping  across  the  park 
and  regretted  the  dilatory  habit  which  kept  her 
in  bed. 

"  Getting  up  is  a  foreign  art,"  she  said.  "  It 
lives  in  kitchens  and  places  where  they  scrub.  The 
doctors  positively  forbid  it  nowadays.  And,  of 
course,  life  is  too  short  to  disobey  the  doctors." 

Gavin  looked  at  her  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
has  too  much  common  sense  to  deal  in  frivolities 
and  rarely  troubled  to  say  the  thing  which  was 
not. 

"  They  talk  nonsense,"  he  said  quietly;  "  the 
profession  is  becoming  far  too  commercial.  It  lives 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          167 

and  thrives  upon  the  credulity  of  fools.  Just  con- 
sider— man  is  the  only  animal  which  does  not 
glory  in  the  Creator's  gift,  the  dawning  day  and 
all  its  wonders.  For  what  do  we  change  it?  For 
the  electric  light  and  the  champagne  which  dis- 
agrees with  ur;  *  We  borrow  of  the  night  and  then 
grumble  because  we  have  nothing  to  offer  the  day. 
If  men  could  get  up  at  five  o'clock  and  go  to  bed 
at  ten,  they  would  begin  to  understand  the  reali- 
ties of  living." 

Evelyn,  much  amused  at  his  earnestness  and 
quite  understanding  that  some  pleasant  original- 
ity of  character  dictated  the  outburst,  looked  at 
him  a  little  mischievously  from  beneath  her  long 
lashes  while  she  said: 

"  In  winter — surely  not  five  o'clock  then,  Mr. 
Ord?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  was  the  quick  reply;  "  we  are 
expected  to  use  our  common  sense 'in  the  matter. 
A  winter's  dawn  is  distinctly  unpleasant;  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  A  true  benefactor  of  man- 
kind would  help  us  to  hibernate.  Imagine  how 
splendid  it  would  be  to  sleep  from  the  twenty- 
sixth  day  of  December  until  the  first  day  of  April. 
Those  are  the  months  of  the  income  tax — of  no  in- 
terest to  you,  Lady  Evelyn,  but  of  great  im- 
portance to  poor  people  who  are  unable  to  help 
the  Government  to  throw  hay  into  the  sea  from 
the  shores  of  South  Africa.  Blot  out  the  winter, 
by  all  means ;  but  leave  us  the  summer,  and  do  not 
expect  us  to  spend  the  best  hours  of  it  in  bed." 

"  Am  I,  then,  personally  guilty  in  the  matter? 
Frankly,  you  will  never  convert  me.  I  am  hateful 


168 

before  ten  o'clock,  and  if  I  go  riding  before  that 
time,  the  very  horses  tremble.  Consider  what 
.going  to  bed  at  ten  o'clock  would  mean  to  us  in 
the  season?  " 

"  I  have  considered  it  often.  We  should  be 
spared  a  large  number  of  very  indifferent  plays ; 
a  great  many  falsehoods  would  not  be  told  to  our 
acquaintances;  old  gentlemen  would  not,  under 
such  circumstances,  need  to  go  to  Carlsbad  to  be 
scrubbed.  You  would  save  vast  quantities  of  good 
food ;  learn  what  the  country  is  to  those  who  really 
know  it ;  and,  perhaps,  discover  that  strange  per- 
sonality, yourself.  Why  should  we  be  so  fright- 
ened of  such  an  excellent  companion?  Men  and 
women  tell  you  that  they  do  not  like  to  be  alone. 
Is  not  that  to  say  that  they  desire  to  keep  self 
at  a  distance.  The  fellow  would  be  troublesome, 
ask  questions,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  But  let 
others  always  be  shouting  in  our  ears  (and  modern 
society  has  excellent  lungs),  then  we  keep  the 
stranger  out  and  are  glad  to  be  quit  of  him.  Some 
achieve  the  same  end  by  work.  I  am  one  of  them. 
When  my  work  gets  hold  of  me  I  cannot  answer  a 
common  question  decently.  Sometimes  I  wake  up 
suddenly  and  say,  '  My  dear  Gavin,  how  are  you 
getting  on  and  what  have  you  been  doing  all  this 
time?  '  I  become  solicitous  for  the  fellow  and 
want  to  peep  into  his  private  books.  That  is  often 
at  dawn,  Lady  Evelyn,  just  when  the  sun  is  shoot- 
ing up  over  the  horizon.  Then  a  man  may  not  be 
ashamed  to  meet  himself.  For  the  rest  of  the 
time  he  is  often  play-acting. ' ' 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          169 

'A  faint  blush  came  to  her  cheeks  and  she 
turned  away  her  head. 

"  Why  not  if  play-acting  amuses  us?  Perhaps 
we  are  not  all  contented  with  that  amiable  stran- 
ger, ourselves.  Some  other  figure  of  the  present 
or  the  past  may  seem  more  desirable  as  a  friend. 
Is  there  any  law  of  Nature  which  compels  us  to 
take  one  personality  rather  than  another?  Can- 
not you  imagine  a  man  or  a  woman  living  years 
of  make-believe — play-acting  always,  if  by  play- 
acting they  can  discover  a  world  more  desirable 
than  the  one  they  live  in?  We  speak  of  imagina- 
tion as  a  rare  gift.  I  doubt  if  it  is  so.  Even  little 
children  have  their  dream-worlds,  and  they  are 
more  remarkable  than  any  books.  I  would  say 
that  your  outlook  is  too  limited.  You  see  one  side 
of  life,  Mr.  Ord,  and  quarrel  with  those  who  can 
look  tolerantly  upon  both." 

Gavin  was  honest  enough  to  admit  that  it  might 
be  so. 

'  *  Yes, ' '  he  said, ' '  I  grant  you  that  the  world  is 
sometimes  better  for  make-believe.  If  we  did  not 
deceive  ourselves,  some  of  us  would  commit  sui- 
cide. The  age  is  to  blame  for  the  necessity.  We 
have  not  color  enough  in  our  lives,  and  even  our 
devotions  are  often  entirely  selfish.  Witness  the 
case  of  a  modern  millionaire  who  is  proud  of  being 
called  *  a  hustler.'  This  rogue  tells  his  friends 
that  he  has  no  time  for  ordinary  social  intercourse. 
My  answer  is  that  he  ought  to  be  hanged  out  of 
hand.  Such  a  fellow  never  comes  face  to  face  with 
himself  once  in  twenty  years.  Men  envy  him  and 
yet  despise  him.  Take  the  meanest  hero  of  mediae- 


170          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

val  fiction  and  place  him  side  by  side  with  a  Gould 
or  a  Vanderbilt.  What  a  very  monarch  he  be- 
comes! Total  up  the  riches  of  a  trust  and  re- 
member Mozart  died  of  starvation.  Vulgarity 
everywhere — none  of  us  is  free  from  it.  Our  very 
ambitions  are  advertised." 

* '  And  we  have  not  even  the  courage  to  hide  our- 
selves in  nunneries." 

' '  They  would  come  here  with  cameras  and  pho- 
tograph our  habits.  No,  we  must  accept  the  posi- 
tion frankly  and  make  the  best  of  it.  That  carries 
me  round  the  circle.  By  getting  up  with  the  sun 
we  see  something  of  ourselves  sometimes.  Our 
work  is  not  then  the  whole  occupation  of  the  day. ' ' 

"  But  yours,  surely,  is  not  work  you  despise, 
Mr.  Ord!  " 

"  So  little  that  I  fear  it  on  that  very  account, 
Just  imagine  how  this  house  is  going  to  make  a 
captive  of  me.  I  shall  know  every  stone  of  it 
before  a  month  has  passed.  I  will  tell  you  then 
all  its  truths  and  all  its  fables.  The  dead  will 
become  my  intimate  friends.  I  shall  reconstruct 
from  the  beginning.  I  must  do  it,  for  how  shall  I 
dare  to  touch  the  hallowed  walls  unless  something 
of  the  builder's  secret  is  known  to  me.  In  six 
months'  time  I  will  show  the  harvest  of  dreams. 
In  six  months'  time " 

"  In  six  months'  time!  What  an  age  to  wait! 
I  may  not  be  in  England  then. ' ' 

"  You  will  return  to  be  my  critic." 

1 '  I  may  never  return. ' ' 

"  Never  return!  my  dear  lady,  you  could  not 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          171 

possibly  desert  Melbourne  Hall.  The  very  stones 
[would  cry  out  upon  you." 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  looking  straight  into  his  face; 
"  my  husband  may  not  like  England,  you  know." 

"  I  will  believe  it  when  he  has  the  courage  to 
tell  me  so." 

"  Men  are  generally  courageous  when  it  is  a 
question  of  telling  a  woman  what  they  do  not  like. 
I  am  to  live  in  Bukharest,  be  it  known.  My  sum- 
mers will  be  spent  in  the  Carpathians.  I  shall  be- 
come a  child  of  the  primitive  colors — the  red,  the 
blue,  and  the  orange — which  Menie  Muriel  Dowie 
tells  us  are  an  eternal  delight  to  the  eyes.  I  am 
promised  glorious  weeks  on  the  Black  Sea,  and 
more  glorious  weeks  on  seas  which  are  not  black. 
The  sun  is  always  shining  there — why  should  one 
want  to  come  back  to  England?  " 

Had  anyone  asked  Evelyn  why  she  spoke  in 
this  way  to  a  stranger,  a  man  of  whose  existence 
she  had  hardly  been  aware  yesterday,  she  would 
certainly  have  been  unable  to  give  a  satisfactory 
answer.  To  no  other  in  all  her  life  had  she  spoken 
so  openly  and  so  readily  as  to  this  fair-haired, 
blue-eyed  Englishman,  who  did  not  appear  to 
have  one  grain  of  humbug  in  all  his  body.  Her 
surprise  was  not  greater  than  her  pleasure;  she 
would  not  deny  that  it  pleased  her  thus  to  confess 
intimate  thoughts  which  she  had  not  shared  even 
with  her  own  father.  Gavin,  upon  his  part,  a 
servant  of  candor  always,  observed  nothing  un- 
usual in  her  freedom;  but  he  could  ask  himself 
already  if  she  were  in  love  with  the  man  to  whom 
her  future  was  pledged. 


172          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

"  We  are  forgetting  how  to  be  serious,"  he  re- 
joined; "  that  is  also  one  of  the  vices  of  the  age. 
People  chatter  away  as  though  words  were  enough 
and  the  truth  of  words  nothing  at  all.  You  do 
not  mean  anything  you  say,  and  you  expect  me 
to  listen  to  you  in  the  same  spirit.  I  decline  to  do 
so.  If  you  go  to  Bukharest,  you  will  come  back 
again  before  the  year  is  out.  As  for  the  blue,  red 
and  orange,  well,  I  could  as  soon  imagine  you 
buying  an  early  Victorian  sideboard.  That  is  my 
frank  opinion.  You  must  forgive  me  if  it  of- 
fends? " 

He  looked  straight  into  her  eyes  and  she  did  not 
turn  away.  Gavin  Ord  was  unlike  any  man  she 
had  known — not  by  mere  cleverness  alone,  but 
by  that  strength  of  will  and  character  which  could 
not  fail  to  assert  itself  in  any  company,  whatever 
its  nature.  Here  sat  one  whom,  were  he  to  com- 
mand her,  she  would  certainly  obey.  Such  a  pos- 
sibility of  docility  astonished  Evelyn  beyond 
measure — but  it  also  encouraged  her  to  put  a 
question  to  him. 

"  Frank  opinions  need  no  forgiveness,"  she 
said.  "  I  am  longing  for  more,  Mr.  Ord.  You 
told  me  last  night  that  you  believed  you  had  met 
me  in  London.  Please  tell  me  where  it  was. ' ' 

She  asked  the  question  with  some  pretty  pre- 
tence of  indifference  which  did  not  deceive  him 
for  an  instant.  It  is  better,  he  thought,  that  I 
should  tell  her,  and  so  he  said,  without  any  affec- 
tation whatever: 

"  I  am  quite  wrong,  of  course;  but  when  I 
thought  the  matter  over  I  remembered  that  a 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          173 

young  actress,  who  made  a  great  sensation  at  the 
Carlton  Theatre  in  May,  might  have  been  named 
for  your  own  sister.  That  is  what  gave  me  the 
idea  that  I  had  seen  you  before." 

"  How  strange!  Do  you  also  remember  the 
lady's  name?  ' 

"  Perfectly.  All  London  went  mad  over  her. 
She  called  herself  Etta  Komney,  and  the  play 
showed  just  such  a  house  as  this.  It  was  the  old 
story  of  Di  Vernon  retold,  Lady  Evelyn." 

"  You  were  much  taken  with  the  play,  it  ap- 
pears? ' 

"Not  with  the  play  at  all.  But  I  thought  Etta 
Komney  one  of  the  cleverest  women  I  have  ever 
seen  on  the  stage. ' ' 

"  Is  she  playing  still,  may  I  ask?  ' 

"  You  know  that  she  is  not,  Lady  Evelyn." 

"  I  know  it — are  you  serious?  " 

'  *  So  serious  that  I  shall  forget  the  subject  until 
you  choose  to  speak  of  it  again." 

"  But  it  interests  me  greatly,"  she  pleaded, 
with  that  insistence  which  often  attends  the  dis- 
cussion of  things  better  avoided.  '  Mf  I  am  really 
so  like  somebody  else,  ought  I  not  to  be  curious? 
You  say " 

' '  Indeed,  I  say  nothing, ' '  he  exclaimed  quickly, 
and  then  in  a  lower  voice — "  at  least  until  the 
Earl  has  breakfasted." 

She  did  not  reply.  The  Earl  entered  the  room 
and  began  at  once  to  speak  of  Gavin's  work  and 
the  arrangements  which  must  be  made  for  -it. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

FROM   THE   BELFRY   TOWER 

little  band  of  workmen  ran  up  a  light 
scaffold  of  ladders  and  boards  for  him  against  the 
belfry  tower,  and  had  it  finished  upon  the  morning 
of  the  conversation  with  the  Lady  Evelyn.  To 
this  height  he  climbed  early  in  the  day.  when 
began  an  examination  of  the  decaying  fabric  and 
set  down  the  first  lines  of  the  report  he  had  to 
make  to  the  Earl.  The  old  building  was  in  a 
shocking  state  certainly;  the  plumb-line  declared 
surprising  departures  from  that  stately  grace  of 
perpendicularity  the  text-books  had  taught  him  to 
esteem.  Gavin  should  have  taken  the  greatest 
interest  in  all  this,  but  he  did  not.  Had  you 
spoken  to  him  yesterday,  he  would  have  been 
ready  to  declare  that  nothing  on  earth  could  be 
more  fascinating  than  the  very  task  he  now  pre- 
tended to  be  engaged  upon;  but  his  habitual  can- 
dor came  to  his  rescue  to-day  and  he  now  pro- 
nounced the  work  to  be  almost  distasteful.  For, 
in  truth,  he  had  discovered  a  secret  as  old  as 
man,  and  the  delight  of  that  new  knowledge  sur- 
passed the  worker's  dreams  by  far. 

He  stood  upon  a  dizzy  height,  but  custom  had 
staled  the  peril  of  his  employment,  and,  in  this 
aspect,  fear  was  unknown  to  him.  A  high  trem- 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          175 

bling  ladder  permitted  him  to  climb  up  to  a  couple 
of  boards  suspended  from  the  parapet  above  by 
frail  ropes  cunningly  wound  about  the  embrasures 
of  the  battlements.  He  stood  with  his  back  to  a 
mossy  wall;  beneath  him  lay  the  fair  domain  of 
Melbourne  Hall;  its  ancient  trees  so  many  chil- 
dren's fretted  toys;  its  grass  lands  supremely 
green;  pool  and  lake  and  river  ablaze  with  the 
golden  light  of  an  Autumn  sun.  But  more  to 
Gavin  than  these  was  the  figure  of  the  Lady 
Evelyn  herself,  clearly  to  be  seen  in  the  glade 
where  the  gypsies  had  pitched  their  camp — the 
figure  of  an  English  girl  divinely  tall,  of  one  whom 
the  splendid  woods  might  well  choose  for  their 
divinity. 

She  rode  through  the  glade  and  by  her  side  their 
walked  a  rough  fellow,  who,  Gavin  thought,  would 
have  been  much  better  in  Derby  jail  than  idling 
in  the  home  park  at  Melbourne.  Some  chance  ob- 
servations which  had  fallen  from  servants'  lips 
had  made  him  acquainted  with  the  circumstances 
under  which  these  apparent  vagrants  had  come  to 
Derbyshire ;  and  he  was  quick  enough  to  perceive 
the  connection  between  the  Earl's  younger  days 
and  this  odd  visitation. 

' '  He  knew  these  fellows  in  Eoumania  and  they 
have  come  here  to  blackmail  him,"  was  the  un- 
spoken comment.  *  *  Their  master  is  a  shady  Rou- 
manian Count — one  of  the  long-haired  brand,  who 
ogle  the  women.  I  take  it  that  she  had  promised 
to  marry  this  man,  not  altogether  at  her  father's 
bidding,  but  just  because  he  is  romantic  liar 
enough  to  appeal  to  one  side  of  her  imagination. 


176          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

That's  what  sent  her  to  London  play-acting.  She 
had  to  escape  from  this  monotony  or  it  would 
have  killed  her.  Well,  I  think  I  know  the  tem- 
perament— a  very  dangerous  temperament  which 
has  sent  many  a  woman  the  wrong  way  and  will 
send  many  more  before  the  world  is  done  with. ' ' 

He  turned  again  to  the  crumbling  stone  work 
and  passed  his  hand  idly  over  it.  This  old  house, 
how  many  women's  hearts  had  it  not  imprisoned 
and  stilled!  What  stories  of  woman's  love  and 
passion  could  it  not  unfold  if  these  rotting  stones 
might  speak?  Many  a  Di  Vernon  had  gone  forth 
from  secret  doors  to  meet  her  lover;  many  a  one 
had  lived  and  died  with  her  girlish  secret  un- 
spoken. Study  in  those  records  and  the  true  story 
of  Evelyn,  my  Lord  of  Melbourne's  daughter, 
would  be  read.  A  brave  girl,  a  lonely  girl,  full  of 
the  stuff  of  which  dreams  are  made,  such  he  be- 
lieved her  to  be.  And  she  had  come  suddenly  into 
his  life,  bidding  him  turn  from  his  work  to  gaze 
after  her,  impotently  as  a  man  may  look  upon  a 
precious  thing  he  may  never  possess.  For  even 
if  she  loved  him,  what  right  had  he  to  speak  to 
her;  what  position  or  name  had  he  to  give  her? 
He  was  a  worker  in  clay.  Bricks  and  mortar  were 
not  the  tokens  in  which  a  woman 's  imagination 
deals. 

* '  If  I  built  a  cathedral, ' '  he  said  to  himself  iron- 
ically, ' '  she  would  merely  say,  '  How  draughty !  ' 
It  is  necessary  to  be  a  brigand  or  a  musician  to 
reach  the  heart  of  her  desires. ' ' 

So  the  work  went  on  a  little  savagely.  He  had 
the  scaffold  shifted  to  the  tower  of  the  chapel 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          17T 

where  the  clock  face  records  the  deeds  of  that 
Lord  of  Melbourne  who  fell  with  Picton's  troop 
at  Waterloo.  "  Time  passed  above  his  head  but 
will  turn  to  look  at  him  .  .  ."  the  inscription 
went.  Gavin  was  cleaning  the  dust  of  the  century 
from  it  when  he  heard  a  voice  upon  the  parapet 
above,  and  looking  up  he  perceived  my  Lady  Eve- 
lyn there,  standing  by  the  battlement  and  watch- 
ing him  curiously. 

' '  Is  not  that  dreadfully  dangerous  ?  ' '  she  asked 
him,  indicating  the  frail  scaffold  upon  which  he 
stood. 

He  answered  at  once  by  another  question. 

"  Do  you  refer  to  Time?  If  so,  yes,  it  is  always 
dangerous.  Time  never  sleeps,  remember." 

She  laughed  and  leaned  over,  a  little  afraid  of 
the  height,  but  desiring,  she  knew  not  why,  to  hear 
him  talk. 

"  You  will  not  look  Time  in  the  face,  then?  ' 
she  said;  "  or  does  the  bell  of  Time  speak  to  youT 
I  know  people  in  France  who  always  cross  them- 
selves when  the  clock  chimes  the  hour. ' ' 

4  *  The  bells  chime  eternity — oh,  yes.  Time  rarely 
laughs  if  it  is  not  ironically.  Here's  a  clock  which 
tries  to  tell  all  the  world  how  a  brave  man  died. 
Time  passed  him  by,  but  returns  twice  a  day  to 
have  a  look  at  him.  The  dirt  of  nearly  a  hundred 
years  is  cast  upon  his  monument  by  Time.  The 
ages  used  to  be  cleaner,  Lady  Evelyn.  Nowadays 
we  trample  mud  on  every  tomb.  There  is  always 
an  *  if  '  for  the  best  of  our  friends." 

"  Meaning  that  some  disappointment  has  made 
a  cynic  of  you,  Mr.  Ord?  " 


178         THE    LADY    EVELYN 

' '  Perhaps,  I  cannot  tell  you.  What  is  the  good 
of  ideals  in  this  twentieth  century?  We  have 
learned  to  scoff  at  simple  things,  faith,  honesty, 
even  courage.  Eich  men  try  to  believe  that  they 
were  never  poor  and  the  poor  believe  that  they 
are  rich — and  go  through  the  Bankruptcy  Court 
accordingly.  I  could  do  great  work  in  the  world, 
but  my  enemy  is  an  estimate.  A  man  no  longer 
builds  a  temple  to  the  glory  of  God;  he  builds  it 
to  the  memory  of  John  Snooks,  hog-merchant. 
Most  of  our  ailments  are  the  penalty  of  soulless- 
ness.  If  we  lived  and  strived  toward  an  end,  the 
mind  would  not  smart  so  often  as  the  body.  That 
saps  our  courage  as  well.  I  can  work  upon  a 
scaffold  like  this  because  I  have  the  past  all  round 
about  me.  But  directly  I  cease  to  work  I  become 
a  coward.  Time  is  dangerous  because  Time  is 
truth;  one  of  the  few  truths  our  modern  life  per- 
mits us  to  recognize." 

"  Then  you  do  really  believe  that  the  old  glory 
of  achievement  lingers  somewhere?  ' 

11  In  the  imagination  of  men  who  would  be 
artists  but  remain  the  servants  of  Mammon.  Let 
me  interrupt  you  to  beg  a  favor.  Your  arm  is 
shifting  the  rope  and  if  it  gave  way " 

"  The  rope — the  one  I  am  leaning  against? 
Does  that  go  down  to  your  scaffolding?  I  never 
noticed  it." 

"  There  is  no  damage  done,"  he  said  quietly; 
"  please  pull  it  down  over  the  stone-work.  No, 
hardly  that  way.  Let  me  come  up  and  show  you. ' ' 

A  short  ladder  led  up  from  the  scaffold  to  the 
roof  of  the  clock  tower.  The  foothold  of  planks 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          179 

was  held  up  by  stout  ropes  wound  about  the  em- 
brasures of  the  parapets.  Unconsciously  as  she 
talked  to  him,  Evelyn  had  shifted  the  right-hand 
rope  from  its  place  and  Gavin's  heart  leaped  when 
he  perceived  that  in  another  instant  boards  and 
man  and  ladder  must  go  headlong  to  the  stone 
terrace  below.  In  truth,  the  climax  came  while 
the  light  words  were  still  upon  his  lips,  and  the 
rope,  slipping  away  from  the  girl's  weak  hand, 
the  scaffold  swung  out  in  an  instant  and  Gavin 
was  left  above  the  abyss,  his  fingers  twined  about 
the  second  rope  and  his  feet  vainly  seeking  a  hold 
against  the  time-worn  stone. 

Men  fight  for  their  lives  in  many  ways — the 
cowards  desperately  and  without  reason,  brave 
men  with  a  quick  apprehension  of  the  circum- 
stances and  a  bold  course  from  which  fear  does 
not  divert  them.  Desperate  as  Gavin's  situation 
had  become,  he  realized  the  whole  truth  of  it  in 
an  instant.  Forty  feet  below  him  was  the  square 
flagged  pavement  built  about  the  belfry,  door. 
Above  him  a  single  rope  swayed  and  strained 
against  the  stone  of  the  parapet,  here  bulging  out- 
ward and  difficult  to  climb.  If  the  rope  held, 
Gavin  believed  that  he  might  touch  the  parapet, 
but  to  mount  it  would  be  an  acrobat's  task.  Other 
help  seemed  impossible  to  bring.  His  assistants 
had  gone  down  to  the  outer  stables  to  load  up  the 
permanent  scaffold.  His  quick  eye  could  not  de- 
tect the  presence  of  a  single  human  being  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  gardens.  Evelyn  herself  stood  as 
one  petrified  by  the  battlements,  afraid  for  the 
instant  to  lift  a  hand  or  utter  a  word  lest  the  spell 


180          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

ef  his  momentary  safety  would  be  broken.  She 
had  never  possessed  that  particular  courage  which 
stands  upon  a  height  unflinchingly,  and  this 
dreadful  accident  found  all  her  nervous  impulse 
paralyzed  and  shattered.  She  listened,  as  in  a 
trance  of  terror  beyond  all  words  to  describe,  for 
the  broken  cry  which  would  speak  of  death;  for 
the  sound  of  a  body  falling  upon  the  flags  below. 
Infinitely  beyond  Gavin  Ord's,  her  imagination 
added  its  darkest  picture  to  her  handiwork.  She 
clinched  her  hands,  fearing  their  clumsiness,  and 
with  eyes  half-closed  drew  back  from  the  battle- 
ments. Never  until  this  day  had  she  seen  a  man 
die;  never  had  she  been  asked  to  take  an  instan- 
taneous resolution  wherein  the  measure  of  her 
own  peril  might  be  the  measure  of  another  man's 
safety.  If  for  the  briefest  instant  she  failed  t6 
answer  the  call,  cowardice  had  no  part  in  her 
irresolution.  Few  would  have  acted  otherwise. 

Gavin  climbed  the  rope  almost  inch  by  inch, 
seeking  as  he  did  so  a  foothold  upon  the  rotting 
stone  and  careful  always  to  bring  no  sudden  jerk 
upon  the  trembling  cord.  It  seemed  an  eternity 
before  he  reached  the  forbidding  parapet  where 
the  graver  danger  must  be  faced ;  but  when  he  did 
so  and  tried  to  put  an  arm  over  the  bulging  stone, 
then  he  understood  that  if  none  came  to  his  as- 
sistance, he  was  most  certainly  doomed.  Beneath 
him,  the  crumbling  cornice  became  so  much  pow- 
dered dust  whenever  his  feet  touched  it — he  could 
find  no  foothold  there,  nor  so  much  as  feel  a  single 
projection  upon  the  buttress  by  which  he  might 
pull  himself  up  to  safety.  And  his  wrists  now 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          181 

ached  with  a  pain  which  threatened  to  become  in- 
toleraL-'.e,  the  rope  cut  his  hands  until  drops  of 
blood  trickled  from  them  to  his  face.  Salvation 
depended  upon  that  which  he  could  do  while  a 
man  might  count  twenty,  and  with  death  looking 
up  at  him  exultingly,  he  made  a  last  effort  to 
surmount  the  bulging  parapet  and  in  the  same 
instant  told  himself  that  it  was  impossible. 

"  My  God,"  he  cried  aloud;  "  I  cannot  do  it — 
I  cannot  do  it!  " 

Perhaps  he  no  longer  feared  death.  There  is. 
this  merit  of  exhaustion  in  danger  that  it  blinds 
the  imagination  and  leaves  indifference  to  the 
ultimate  issue.  Gavin  was  just  at  that  point  when 
a  man  is  incapable  of  further  effort,  even  in  the 
cause  of  his  own  safety,  when,  looking  up,  he 
perceived  Evelyn  at  the  balustrade,  her  face 
deathly  white,  her  eyes  shining  terror;  but  her 
acts  were  as  cool  and  collected  as  they  had  been 
when  first  he  met  her  in  the  long  gallery  of  Mel- 
bourne Hall.  Waked  from  the  trance  of  fear  by 
the  words  he  had  spoken,  she  cast  one  quick  glance 
at  the  figure  swaying  upon  the  rope;  then  turned 
about  her  and,  stooping,  she  picked  up  the  long 
rope  which  her  own  maladroitness  had  displaced 
from  the  battlements.  Methodically  and  without 
a  blunder,  she  made  a  noose  in  this  and  passed 
it  over  the  parapet. 

"  Slip  your  arm  over  it,"  she  said,  in  a  voice 
that  betrayed  no  emotion  whatever.  "  I  will  tie 
it  to  the  weather-vane — please,  please  try.  I  can 
help  you — I  am  very  strong,  Mr.  Ord.  Yes,  that 


182          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

is  the  way — now  take  my  hand — don't  *je  afraid 
to  hurt  me — yes,  yes,  like  that." 

He  slipped  one  arm  over  the  noose  and  chang- 
ing hands  cleverly  upon  the  other  rope  and 
digging  his  feet  deep  into  the  rotting  stone,  he 
drew  the  noose  around  his  body  while  she  caught 
up  the  slack  of  the  cord  and  bound  it  round  and 
round  the  great  iron  pillar  of  the  weather-vane 
which  crowns  the  Belfry  Tower  of  Melbourne 
Hall.  His  position  was  such  in  this  instant  that  he 
hung  out  clear  above  the  abyss  with  his  face  upon 
a  level  with  the  parapet  and  his  body  backward 
to  the  flags  below.  All  depended  upon  the  iron 
pillar  of  the  weather-vane  and  the  stuff  of  which 
the  rope  was  made.  Gavin  had  no  alternative  but 
to  trust  to  it,  and  he  swung  himself  out  fearlessly 
with  one  earnest  prayer  for  safety  upon  his  lips. 
So  near  to  him  that  he  wondered  that  his  arms 
could  not  touch  her  was  the  figure  of  Evelyn, 
seeming  to  beckon  him  to  salvation.  He  felt  the 
noose  draw  tight  about  his  body,  and  for  some 
instants  he  swung  to  and  fro  almost  with  the 
content  of  one  who  has  waged  a  good  fight  and 
would  sleep.  Then  her  voice  came  welcomely  to 
his  ears  once  more,  bidding  him  make  an  effort; 
and  at  this  he  pulled  himself  up  almost  with 
superhuman  will  and  touched  the  round  of  the 
stone-work  with  his  hands  laid  flat  upon  it  and  his 
knees  bent  upon  the  balustrade.  Would  he  fall 
back  once  more  or  had  she  the  strength  to  save 
him?  Her  little  hands  had  caught  him  by  the 
wrists  now;  and,  kneeling,  she  exerted  a  strength 
she  had  never  known  herself  to  possess.  Must 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          183 

they  go  crashing  together  to  the  flags  shining  in 
the  sunlight  below?  In  vain  he  supplicated  her 
to  release  her  hold  and  leave  him  to  do  battle 
for  himself. 

"  I  shall  pull  you  over,"  he  cried  madly.  "  For 
God's  sake,  leave  me  to  myself!  " 

She  scarcely  heard  him;  her  eyes  were  closed, 
her  lips  were  hard  set ;  she  had  thrown  her  whole 
weight  backward  from  the  hips  and  with  every 
muscle  straining,  every  danger  forgotten,  but 
that  of  the  man  whose  safety  she  had  imperilled, 
she  drew  him  to  her  side  and  fell  fainting  before 
him. 

Gavin  was  dizzy  and  sick  from  fear.  His  hands 
were  cut  and  bleeding ;  his  clothes  torn  to  ribbons ; 
he  could  hear  the  heavy  pulsation  of  his  heart 
when  he  bent  to  lift  Evelyn  in  his  strong  arms 
as  one  who,  henceforth,  had  some  right  to  do  so. 

"  The  worst  may  become  the  best,"  he  said  to 
himself  quietly ; ' '  she  will  tell  me  her  story  now. ' ' 

And  so  he  carried  her  down  to  the  Long  Gal- 
lery and  Melbourne  Hall  heard  of  the  accident 
for  the  first  time. 


CHAPTER   XX 

LOVERS 

GAVIN  's  belief  that  Evelyn  would  now  make  a 
•confidant  of  him  rested  largely  upon  a  knowledge 
of  human  nature,  which  the  great  and  successful 
•school  of  endeavor  had  revealed  to  him.  Nor 
was  he  in  any  way  mistaken.  The  intimacy  of 
<a  peril,  mutually  dared  and  overcome,  brought 
the  man  and  the  woman  together  as  years  of 
social  intercourse  could  not  have  done.  That 
very  night  they  walked  in  the  Italian  Gardens 
of  Melbourne  Hall  and  spoke  as  freely  as  brother 
•and  sister  might  have  done. 

"  I  like  your  guest,"  Gavin  began — and  he  re- 
ferred to  a  young  solicitor  by  name  Gilbert  Bay, 
-who  had  come  down  from  London  by  the  after- 
noon train — "  I  like  your  guest  The  fact  that 
he  is  losing  his  hair  is  a  point  in  his  favor.  When 
you  think  how  much  the  head  of  a  prosperous 
lawyer  must  carry,  it  is  a  wonder  that  there  is 
room  for  any  of  the  commoner  emotions  at  all. 
Not  a  month  ago,  Sir  Francis  Button  told  me  that 
he  could  lock  up  half  the  great  people  in  town, 
politicians  included,  by  one  turn  of  a  little  key  in 
his  safe.  My  fingers  would  be  itching  all  day 
to  open  that  safe  if  I  were  he.  Just  think  of  the 
.blessings  I  should  confer  upon  the  halfpenny 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         185 

papers.  A  Cabinet  Minister  in  the  police  court. 
They  would  leave  the  war  out  altogether  next 
day.  After  all,  the  world  takes  nothing  very 
seriously  nowadays. ' ' 

"  Not  even  itself,"  said  Evelyn,  almost  as  one 
speaking  with  regret.  * '  We  are  growing  too  cyn- 
ical even  to  deceive  ourselves,  and  that  used  to 
be  the  most  pleasant  of  all  amusements.  But  I 
agree  with  you  about  Mr.  Bay.  His  face  is  an 
honest  one.  I  wonder  if  it  is  any  drawback  to 
him  in  his  business." 

Gavin  laughed,  wondering  perhaps  at  the  flip- 
pancy of  their  talk  and  their  mutual  desire  to 
avoid  any  reference  to  that  which  had  befallen 
them  earlier  in  the  day.  By  common  consent  they 
would  not  speak  of  the  accident;  each  believed 
that  some  self-applause  must  attend  the  recital 
of  it,  and,  save  for  a  few  brief  words  when  Evelyn 
had  recovered  that  morning,  their  resolution  of 
silence  remained  unshaken.  Out  here  upon  the 
open  lawns  with  the  deep  crimson  shades  of  the 
dining-room  making  a  fairy  scene  behind  them; 
out  here  where  the  night  breeze  was  like  a  breath 
of  a  tired  sleeper  and  the  river  below  droned  a 
lullaby,  it  was  difficult  enough  to  realize  that  death 
had  been  so  recently  their  neighbor.  Nor  had  they 
the  desire  to  do  sot  This  new  intimacy  of  associ- 
ation was  a  gracious  gift  to  them  both;  and 
Evelyn,  not  less  than  he,  understood  that  it  might 
yet  influence  the  years  to  come. 

' '  Honesty  is  always  a  drawback  in  certain  pro- 
fessions," Gavin  said,  as  they  wandered  away 
from  the  open  windows  to  the  darker  shades  be- 


186          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

neath  the  yews;  "  an  honest  doctor  would  be  in 
danger  of  starving,  while  an  honest  photographer 
would  certainly  go  to  the  workhouse.  Mr.  Bay, 
at  least,  was  honest  in  his  desire  to  get  rid  of  us. 
His  remarks  upon  the  beauty  of  the  evening  I 
found  quite  superfluous." 

"  My  father  is  very  anxious  to  talk  to  him," 
Evelyn  said  quickly.  "  I  am  sure  you  have  re- 
marked his  abstracted  manner  since  you  came 
here.  A  stranger  would  notice  such  things  at 
once.  He  is  not  well,  and  I  fear  is  in  great  trouble, 
Mr.  Ord.  Perhaps  he  will  tell  Mr.  Bay.  I  hope 
sincerely  that  he  will  do  so. ' ' 

"  Then  he  has  said  nothing  to  you,  Lady 
Evelyn?  " 

"  He  has  said  that  which  I  find  great  difficulty 
in  understanding.  I  wish  it  were  otherwise.  A 
woman  is  never  able  to  estimate  a  man's  danger 
correctly.  There  are  so  many  things  of  which  she 
takes  no  account." 

"  When  she  will  not  permit  a  man  to  help  her. 
I  am  asking  you  to  tell  me  the  story,  you  see.  It 
has  been  in  my  mind  to  do  so  for  some  hours  past. 
Of  course,  I  have  known  that  there  is  a  story.  I 
should  never  regret  coming  to  Melbourne  Hall  if 
I  could  be  of  the  slightest  use  to  you,  Lady  Eve- 
lyn. Will  you  not  make  me  your  friend?  ' 

He  drew  her  still  farther  apart,  down  to  that 
very  bridge  he  had  crossed  the  night  he  came  to 
the  Hall;  that  night  of  weird  hallucination  and 
childish  phantoms.  Standing  by  the  low  balus- 
trade (she  half-sitting  upon  it  and  watching  the 
eddies  in  the  pool  below),  she  spoke  of  Etta  Bom- 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          187 

ney  and  of  a  young  girl  whose  dreams  had  sent 
her  to  London. 

"  I  have  always  delighted  to  live  in  a  world  of 
my  own  making,"  she  said  frankly.  "  There  are 
days  together  when  I  believe  myself  to  be  some  one 
else  and  act  and  do  that  which  I  believe  they 
would  have  acted  and  done.  The  theatre  stood  to 
me  for  a  very  heaven  of  self-deceptions.  I  read 
of  it  in  books,  dreamed  of  it  in  my  sleep,  tried  to 
picture  it  as  it  must  be.  Oh,  yes,  I  have  spoken 
my  own  plays  aloud  beneath  the  trees  of  this  Park 
so  many  days.  I  was  Di  Vernon,  my  Lady  Bea- 
trice, Viola,  Desdemona,  all  the  young  girls  you 
can  name  in  the  books.  Sometimes  I  had  the  idea 
to  run  away  and  hide  myself  from  everyone  in 
that  great  picture  land  my  visions  showed  to  me. 
No  one  here  could  share  my  thoughts.  My  father 
adored  me,  but  has  n3ver  understood  me.  To  him, 
I  am  the  child  of  the  Toman  he  loved  beyond 
anything  on  parth.  He  guards  me  as  though  some 
change  would  come  upon  me  if  he  ceased  his  vig- 
ilance. Then  irony  appears  and  says  it  is  my 
father  who  is  changing.  I  have  been  aware  of  it 
ever  since  Count  Odin  visited  us.  These  wild  men 
have  brought  misfortune  to  our  house  and  God 
knows  where  we  are  drifting.  I  thought  at  one 
time  that  if  I  married  the  Count  that  would  be 
the  end  of  everything.  I  can  believe  it  no  longer. 
My  father  is  tempted  to  sacrifice  me;  but  he 
would  regret  it  all  his  lite  if  he  did  so.  Can  you 
blame  me  if  I  think  of  London  again — seriously 
and  forever?  ' 

Gavin  answered  her  with  difficulty.     He  knew 


188          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

so  few  of  the  facts  of  her  story  as  yet  that  his 
common  sense  warned  him  to  speak  guardedly. 

"  I  should  be  the  last  to  blame  you,"  he  said 
slowly;  "  but  surely  there  is  an  alternative?  We 
take  a  desperate  step  when  other  and  wiser  roads 
are  closed  to  us.  Let  me  try  to  understand  it 
better.  Count  "Odin,  you  say,  has  some  hold  upon 
your  father " 

11  I  did  not  say  so,  surely " 

"  Then  I  imagine  as  much.  He  has  some  hold 
upon  your  father,  obtained  by  that  which  hap- 
pened in  Bukharest  many  years  ago.  Do  you 
know  precisely  what  his  claim  is?  ' 

"  His  father's  liberty.  The  old  Chevalier 
Georges  Odin  is  a  prisoner  in  one  of  the  mines  on 
the  borders  of  the  Black  Sea.  The  Count  declares 
that  this  is  my  father's  work.  I  cannot  tell  you 
if  it  be  true  or  false.  If  it  is  true,  I  will  see  that 
we  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  set  Georges  Odin 
free.  I  wish  I  could  be  so  sure  that  his  liberty 
will  bring  no  peril  upon  my  father." 

"  The  men  were  enemies,  then?  ' 

' '  I  have  understood  as  much.  They  were  rivals 
for  my  dead  mother's  hand." 

11  And  your  father  profited  by  his  enemy's 
political  misfortune?  ' 

"  I  must  believe  it,  since  he  is  afraid  to  give 
this  man  his  liberty." 

'  *  A  natural  fear — in  Eoumania ;  not,  I  think,  in 
England.  Will  you  let  ine  ask  how  your  marriage 
with  the  young  Count  would  help  your  father  in 
his  difficulty?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  unless  it  is  assumed  that  as 


TfiE    LADY    EVELYN          189 

Georges  Odin's  daughter-in-law,  I  should  pay  the 
debt  my  father  owes. ' ' 

"  And  save  him  from  a  purely  imaginary  dan- 
ger? ' 

"  Would  you  think  it  purely  imaginary  when 
you  remember  the  guests  we  entertain  in  our 
Park?  " 

"  The  gypsies — could  the  police  say  nothing  to 
them?  Remember  we  are  living  in  England, 
where  all  the  fine  sentiments  preached  in  Southern 
Europe  are  so  many  heroics  to  be  laughed  at.  If 
a  Roumanian  were  to  challege  me  to  avenge  the 
honor  of  my  ancestors  by  cutting  his  throat  in 
the  Carpathians,  I  should  put  his  letter  among  my 
curiosities.  Vendettas  and  secret  societies  and 
such  absurdities  have  no  place  among  us  outside 
the  theatre.  That's  why  I  say  that  this  matter 
should  be  dealt  with  in  an  English  way.  If  your 
father  has  done  any  man  a  wrong,  he,  as  an  Eng- 
lish gentleman,  will  do  his  best  to  put  it  right. 
All  the  rest  is  merely  tall  talk.  It  should  not 
even  be  taken  into  account,  and  would  not  be,  I 
think,  unless  there  are  circumstances  of  which  I 
know  nothing.  That  is  why  I  speak  with  reserva- 
tion. I  know  so  little  of  your  father,  and  he  is  one 
of  the  most  difficult  men  to  know  that  I  have  met. ' ' 

Evelyn  shook  her  head. 

"  Every  man  is  difficult  to  know  and  every 
woman,"  he  said  philosophically;  "  those  who 
seem  most  superficial  are  often  the  people  we 
understand  least.  Here  am  I  talking  to  you  as 
I  have  never  talked  to  anyone  in  all  my  life,  and 
yet  you  know  nothing  about  me  whatever. ' ' 


190          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

"  I  differ  from  that  entirely." 

"  Indeed,  it  is  true.  If  it  were  not,  yon  would 
not  have  asked  me  why  I  let  them  say  that  I  am 
going  to  marry  Count  Odin. ' ' 

"  You  let  them  say  it  because  it  is  too  foolish 
to  contradict." 

' '  Nothing  of  the  kind.  I  let  them  say  it  because 
my  mother  would  have  married  his  father  had 
her  wishes  been  consulted.  Oh,  I  know  that  so 
well.  Every  day  my  inheritance  speaks  to  me.  I 
am  afraid  of  him,  and  yet  am  drawn  toward  him. 
I  detest  him  and  yet  go  to  him.  Do  you  wonder 
that  London  seems  my  only  way  of  escape — the 
theatre  where  Etta  Romney  can  come  to  life  again 
and  Evelyn  be  forgotten?  ' 

She  spoke  with  some  excitement  as  she  always 
did  when  the  silent  voice  within  told  her  again  of 
those  triumphs  awaiting  her  upon  the  stage  in 
London  whenever  she  had  the  mind  to  seek  them. 
Gavin  thought  that  he  understood  her;  but  her 
confession  troubled  him  none  the  less.  Almost 
formal  as  their  conversation  had  been,  there  was 
that  in  the  timbre  of  their  voices,  in  their  steps, 
their  gestures,  their  looks,  which  declared  the 
pleasure  of  their  intimacy  and  would  have  be- 
trayed the  mutual  secret  to  any  who  might  have 
overheard  them.  Love,  indeed,  laughed  aside  at 
the  prim  phrases  and  the  mock  sophistries — and 
none  realized  this  more  surely  than  Gavin. 

"  I  hope  it  would  be  as  a  last  resource,"  said 
Gavin  presently,  still  thinking  of  her  threat  to 
return  to  the  theatre.  "  You  must  not  forget 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         191 

that  your  friends  may  have  something  to  say  in 
the  matter."' 

"  My  friends!  Who  are  my  friends?  "  she  ex- 
claimed hotly.  "  The  chattering  doctor,  who  is 
always  looking  for  an  excuse  to  feel  my  pulse. 
The  vicar,  who  is  so  dreadfully  afraid  of  his  wife 
hearing  the  nonsense  he  talks  to  me.  Young  John 
Hall,  who  can  speak  of  nothing  else  but  Yorkshire 
cricket  scores.  I  have  no  friends — unless  it  be 
the  dogs. ' ' 

Gavin  drew  a  little  nearer  to  her,  and  con- 
fronting her  suddenly,  he  said : 

"  Then  here  is  a  new  breed  of  hound  and  one 
that  will  be  faithful." 

She  turned  away  her  head,  forgetting  that  the 
darkness  hid  her  crimson  cheeks  from  him. 

"  I  must  not  listen  to  you — I,  who  am  to  be 
Count  Odin's  wife,"  she  said. 

"  You  will  never  be  Count  Odin's  wife,"  he  re- 
joined. "  I  forbid  it,  you  have  given  me  the 
right.  Listen  to  me,  Evelyn.  The  night  I  came 
to  Melbourne  Hall,  I  heard  a  voice  calling  to  me 
as  I  crossed  this  very  bridge.  It  was  your  voice. 
I  looked  over  and  I  saw  a  face  down  there  in  the 
river  and  it  was  your  face.  That  night  I  did  not 
know  why  Destiny  had  sent  me  to  this  house.  But 
I  know  it  now,  and  it  makes  me  say  to  you, 
'  I  love  you — I  love  you,  Evelyn,  and  my  love  will 
save  you.'  When  you  tell  me  that  you  must  not 
hear  me,  it  is  not  yourself  speaking  but  another. 
I  love  you,  and,  before  God,  I  will  not  rest  day 
or  night  until  I  have  saved  your  father  and  you 
from  this  shadow  which  has  come  upon  your  lives. 


192          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

It  is  yours  to  give  me  the  right  to  do  so — here  and 
now,  the  right  your  heart  bids  you  give  me  and 
you  will  not  deny." 

He  took  her  hands  in  both  of  his  and  drew  her 
toward  him.  She  resisted  him  a  brief  moment; 
then  suddenly,  as  though  disguise  were  idle,  she 
lifted  her  lips  to  his  and  kissed  him. 

"  From  myself,"  she  said;  "  save  me  from 
myself." 


CHAPTER   XXI 

ZALLONY'S  SON 

GAVIN  permitted  her  to  escape  his  arms  when 
he  heard  the  Earl  calling  to  them  from  the  Italian 
garden  above  the  river.  A  sense  of  exultation,  of 
ecstasy  no  words  could  measure,  possessed  him 
as  he  watched  the  slim  white-clad  figure,  here  dis- 
appearing, there  showing  itself  again  between  the 
ramparts  of  the  splendid  trees.  She  was  his, 
henceforth  and  forever.  All  her  beauty,  her 
charm,  her  intellect,  every  grace  of  speech  and 
manner  had  passed  to  his  possession. 

This  stately  girl  of  whom  the  countryside  spoke 
as  of  some  wondrous  divinity,  she  had  promised 
to  become  his  wife;  for  him  the  warm  kisses  of 
her  lips,  the  declared  secrets  of  her  eloquent  eyes, 
the  passionate  ardor  of  her  embraces.  Yesterday 
he  would  have  called  himself  a  madman  to  have 
dared  the  meanest  of  the  hopes  which  now  might 
be  regarded  with  equanimity.  To-night  he  could 
recall  them  with  that  kind  incredulity  which  even 
attends  the  first  hours  of  such  an  avowal  as  this. 
What  act  or  purpose  of  his  life  had  brought  him 
such  a  reward;  why  had  she  deemed  him  worthy? 
he  asked  himself.  He  was  neither  a  vain  man 
nor  a  fool.  If  he  contemplated  his  good  fortune 
with  a  just  trepidation,  none  the  less  he  believed 


194          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

himself  to  merit  it.  She  loved  him,  and  hence- 
forth might  claim  his  life.  This  was  the  whole 
lesson  of  the  first  brief  moments  of  delight. 

Gavin  was  far  too  excited  to  think  of  returning 
to  the  Castle;  nor  had  he  any  wish  to  speak  to 
the  Earl  until  his  own  story  presented  itself  to  him 
in  some  reasonably  plausible  shape.  Under  other 
circumstances,  he  could  have  understood  the 
anger  and  the  impatience  which  such  a  declaration 
might  bring  upon  him ;  but  these  he  did  not  expect 
at  Melbourne  Hall.  Robert  Forrester  seemed  to 
him  rather  an  aristocrat  by  accident  than  by  birth. 
He,  himself,  would  not  in  any  case  consider  the 
dignity  of  his  own  life  and  calling  as  beneath  that 
of  one  whose  ancestors  had  been  the  jest  of  Lon- 
don in  the  days  of  the  Stuarts.  He  had  the  right 
of  an  honored  name,  of  considerable  achievement, 
and  of  his  youth;  and  by  these  he  claimed  her. 
Moreover,  the  secrets  of  the  Hall  were  now  his 
own;  and  he  understood  that  the  forgotten  years 
stalked  as  ghosts  through  the  splendid  chambers, 
speaking  of  passions  outlived  and  of  the  after- 
math to  be  garnered  from  their  fields.  Father 
and  daughter  alike  were  reaping  that  which  had 
been  sown  in  Bukharest  more  than  twenty  years 
ago.  From  his  just  judgment,  from  her  birth- 
right, it  lay  upon  the  stranger  to  save  them. 
Gavin  determined  to  begin  his  work  that  very 
night. 

He  had  lighted  a  pipe  when  Evelyn  left  him, 
and  with  this  glowing  in  the  darkness,  he  set  out, 
with  no  definite  purpose  in  his  mind,  toward  the 
gypsy  encampment  down  in  the  hollow  by  the 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          195 

river.  Behind  him,  Melbourne  Hall  stood  up 
as  a  glittering  palace  of  a  wonder-world,  its 
windows  casting  out  their  brilliant  jets  to 
make  blacker  darkness  in  the  gardens,  and 
many  a  picture  revealed  to  speak  of  ancient 
centuries  and  the  momentous  history  of  the 
house.  Ahead  of  him  lay  the  moonlit  park,  the 
giant  yews  and  elms,  the  matchless  oaks,  glades 
and  dells,  where  from  the  elves  should  come 
unsurpassable  avenues  and  all  the  beauty  of  the 
forest  scene.  Gavin  walked  on,  however,  oblivious 
of  the  night  or  its  wonders.  He  had  a  vague  idea 
that  he  might  learn  something  from  the  rogues 
and  vagabonds  who  had  followed  Count  Odin  to 
Melbourne  Hall ;  and,  with  this  idea  indicating  his 
path,  he  came  presently  to  the  thicket  beyond 
which  the  encampment  lay.  There  a  sound  of 
voices  arrested  his  attention.  Plainly,  he  said,  a 
woman  was  speaking;  and  while  the  surprise  of 
this  discovery  was  still  upon  him,  the  music  of 
a  violin,  weird  and  echoing,  began  to  accompany 
the  speaker  in  a  song  so  plaintive  that  the  very 
spirit  of  sorrow  appeared  to  breathe  in  every  note 
of  it. 

Gavin  listened  to  the  music  spell-bound,  and  yet 
a  little  ashamed  of  his  position.  No  possible  ad- 
vantage to  himself  or  others  would  have  induced 
him  to  play  an  eavesdropper's  part  at  Melbourne 
or  elsewhere.  If  he  lingered  in  the  shadow  of 
the  thicket,  it  was  because  the  music  compelled 
him  and  he  could  not  escape  its  fascinations. 
When  the  sound  of  the  voice  died  away,  he  turned 
about  to  come  at  the  encampment  by  another 


196          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

road ;  and  then  he  became  aware  for  the  first  time 
that  he  did  not  stand  there  alone.  A  pair  of  black 
eyes,  shining  like  a  cat's  in  the  darkness,  looked 
up  at  him  as  it  were  from  his  very  shoulder.  Ee- 
turning  their  gaze,  but  not  without  a  quickening 
pulse  and  some  apprehension  of  danger,  he  could, 
at  length,  outline  the  figure  of  a  man,  slim  and 
agile,  and  yet  not  without  a  certain  grace  to  be 
perceived  even  in  such  a  light.  That  this  fellow 
was  one  of  the  gypsies  he  had  no  doubt  at  all.  The 
clear  moonlit  night  revealed  the  oval  face,  the 
restless  eyes,  the  long,  tapering  hands  of  a  Eo- 
many.  Gavin  remarked  the  hands  particularly, 
for  one  of  them  was  thrust  into  the  bosom  of  a 
spotlessly  white  and  clinging  shirt — and  that 
hand,  he  said,  covered  the  hilt  of  a  gypsy's  knife. 
So  it  was  to  be  a  hazardous  encounter  after  all. 
He  understood  too  well  that  if  he  moved  so  much 
as  a  foot,  this  gypsy  would  stab  him. 

"  Why  do  you  watch  us,  sir?  " 

The  English  was  execrable  but  the  meaning 
quite  plain.  Gavin  answered  as  abruptly*: 

"  I  am  listening  to  your  music." 

The  gypsy,  utterly  lost  in  his  attempts  to  con- 
tinue in  a  tongue  of  which  he  knew  so  little,  stam- 
mered for  an  instant  and  then  asked  curtly : 

1 1  Do  you  speak  German,  sir  I  ' 

1 '  Possibly  as  well  as  you  do ;  I  have  been  three 
years  in  that  excellent  country." 

11  Please  to  tell  me  who  you  are,  then,  and  why 
you  come  to  his  Excellency's  house?  ' 

Gavin  laughed  at  the  impertinence  of  it.  Speak- 
ing in  fluent  German,  he  said : 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          197 

"  I  might  very  well  put  that  question  to  you. 
Shall  I  say,  then,  that  I  am  not  here  to  answer 
your  questions.  Come,  we  had  better  be  frank 
with  each  other.  I  may  be  able  to  help  you." 

This  was  a  new  idea  to  the  gypsy  and  one  that 
caused  him  some  perplexity.  A  little  reflection 
convinced  him  that  the  stranger  was  right. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  "  we  will  talk  about  it. 
Come  to  my  tent  and  Djala  shall  make  us  coffee. 
Why  not  be  friends?  Yes,  we  might  help  each 
other,  as  you  say«  Let  us  talk  first  and  then  we 
can  quarrel." 

He  led  the  way  through  a  path  of  the  dell,  pow- 
dering the  ground  with*  the  golden  dust  of  wild 
flowers  as  he  went.  The  encampment  had  been 
enlarged  considerably  since  Evelyn  discovered  it 
on  the  gypsies  first  coming  to  Moretown.  There 
were  no  less  than  seven  tents ;  and  the  biggest  of 
these,  the  one  to  which  Gavin's  guide  now  con- 
ducted him,  had  been  furnished  with  lavish  gener- 
osity. Old  silver  lamps  from  the  Hall  cast  a 
warm,  soft  light  upon  the  couches  and  rugs  about ; 
there  were  old  tapestries  hung  against  the  canvas ; 
tables  glittering  with  silver  ornaments;  a  buffet 
laden  with  bottles  and  silver  boxes.  But  the  chief 
ornament  was  Djala,  a  little  Hungarian  girl,  and 
such  a  perfect  picture  of  wild  beauty  that  Gavin 
stared  at  her  amazed. 

4  *  Here  is  Djala, ' '  the  guide  said,  with  a  gesture 
of  his  hand  toward  her.  "  I  am  known  as  Zal- 
lony's  son.  His  Excellency  may  have  spoken  of 
me." 

* '  I  know  nothing, ' '  said  Gavin  simply.    ' '  Per- 


198          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

mit  me  to  tell  the  young  lady  that  she  has  a 
charming  voice.  I  have  never  heard  music  that 
fascinated  me  so  much.'' 

"  It  is  the  music  of  a  nation  of  musicians,  sir. 
Please  to  sit  down.  Djala  will  serve  us  cigarettes 
and  coffee." 

The  girl  laughed  pleasantly,  showing  a  row  of 
shining  white  teeth  and  evidently  understanding 
that  a  compliment  had  been  paid  her  by  the  stran- 
ger. When  she  had  served  the  coffee  and  cigar- 
ettes, she  ran  away  with  a  coquette's  step  and 
they  heard  her  singing  outside  to  the  soft  accom- 
paniment of  a  zither.  Zallony's  son  smoked  mean- 
while with  the  contemplative  silence  of  the 
Oriental;  and  Gavin,  waiting  for  him,  would  not 
be  the  first  to  break  the  truce. 

' '  So  you  have  been  in  Germany,  sir  ?  ' 

11  I  was  there  three  years,"  said  Gavin. 

"  You  know  Bukharest,  it  may  be?  " 

11  Not  at  all,  though  a  lady's  book  was  on  the 
point  of  sending  me  to  the  Carpathians. ' ' 

11  You  should  go  and  see  my  country;  it  is  the 
finest  in  the  world. ' ' 

' '  I  will  take  care  to  do  so  on  the  earliest  oppor- 
tunity. ' ' 

' '  Make  friends  with  my  people  and  they  will 
be  your  friends.  We  never  forget,  sir.  That  is 
why  I  am  here  in  this  English  country,  because 
we  never  forget." 

11  The  best  of  qualities.  .  .  .  They  tell  me 
that  your  father  was  his  Excellency's  friend  in 
Boumania  many  years  ago. ' ' 

The  gypsy  looked  at  him  questioningly. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         199 

"  It  is  as  you  say,  sir.  They  were  brothers  of 
the  hills.  When  the  houses  burned  and  the  women 
ran  from  the  soldiers,  then  men  said  it  is  Zallony 
and  the  English  lord.  There  was  another  with 
them.  He  is  in  prison  now — he  who  was  my 
father's  friend.  Sir,  I  come  to  England  to  give 
him  liberty." 

Gavin  was  greatly  interested.  He  drained  the 
little  cup  of  coffee,  and,  filling  a  pipe  slowly,  he 
said: 

1 1  'What  forbids  your  success  ?  ' 

Zallony 's  son  looked  him  straight  in  the  face. 

'  *  A  lady  known  to  us — she  may  forbid  it,  sir. '  * 

"  You  cannot  mean  the  Lady  Evelyn?  ' 

11  We  will  not  speak  of  names.  You  have  her 
confidence.  Say  to  her  that  when  she  is  false  to 
my  friend,  Count  Odin,  I  will  kill  her. ' ' 

"  But  that  is  nonsense.  What  has  she  to  do 
with  it?  Your  affair  is  with  the  Earl,  her  father. 
Why  do  you  speak  of  her?  ' 

"  Because  there  is  only  one  door  by  which  my 
father's  friend  can  win  his  liberty.  Let  Georges 
Odin's  son  marry  an  Englishwoman  and  my  Gov- 
ernment will  release  him." 

"  That  is  your  view.  Do  you  forget  his  Excel- 
lency's influence?  Why  should  he  not  petition 
the  Government  at  Bukharest  for  this  man's 
liberty?  " 

"  Because,  in  that  case,  his  own  life  would  be 
in  danger.  We  are  a  people  that  never  forgets.  I 
have  told  you  so.  If  Georges  Odin  were  at  liberty, 
he  would  cross  the  world  to  find  his  enemy.  That 
is  our  nature.  We  love  and  hate  as  an  Eastern 


200          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

people  should.  The  man  who  does  us  a  wrong 
must  repay,  whoever  he  is.  It  would  be  different 
if  the  young  Count  had  an  English  wife.  That 
is  why  I  wish  it. ' ' 

Gavin  smiled  almost  imperceptibly. 

"  It  is  quite  clear  that  you  know  little  of  Eng- 
land," he  said.  "  This  language  suits  your  own 
country  very  well.  Permit  me  to  say  that  it  is 
ridiculous  in  ours.  If  Lord  Melbourne  had  any 
hand  in  your  friend's  imprisonment,  which  I 
doubt,  he  is  hardly  likely  to  be  influenced  by 
threats.  I  should  say  that  you  are  going  the 
wrong  way  to  work.  As  to  the  Lady  Evelyn,  I 
will  tell  you  that  she  will  never  be  the  wife  of  one 
of  your  countrymen.  If  you  ask  a  reason,  it  is 
a  personal  one,  and  before  you  now.  She  is  going 
to  marry  me.  It  is  just  as  well  that  we  should 
understand  as  much  at  once." 

The  gypsy  heard  the  news  as  one  who  had  ex- 
pected to  hear  it.  He  smoked  for  a  little  while  in 
silence.  Then  he  said : 

"  I  appreciate  the  courtesy  of  your  admission. 
That  which  I  thought  it  necessary  to  tell  you  at 
first,  I  must  now  repeat  .  .  .  this  lady  is  the 
betrothed  of  my  friend,  Count  Odin.  I  remain 
in  England  as  the  guardian  of  his  honor.  If  you 
are  wise,  you  will  leave  the  house  without  further 
warning.  My  friend  is  absent,  and  until  he  is 
here  I  must  speak  for  him.  We  do  not  know  you 
and  wish  you  no  harm.  Let  this  affair  end  as  it 
l>egan.  You  would  be  foolish  to  do  otherwise." 

Gavin  heard  the  threat  without  any  sign  of 
resentment  whatever. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         201 

;<  You  are  talking  the  language  of  the  Car- 
pathians, not  of  London,"  he  said,  with  a  new  note 
of  determination  in  his  tone.  *  *  I  will  answer  you 
in  my  English  way.  I  have  asked  Lady  Evelyn  to 
marry  me,  and  she  will  do  so  before  the  year  is 
out.  That  is  final.  For  the  rest,  I  remind  you 
again  that  you  are  not  in  Bukharest." 

He  rose,  laughing,  and  offered  his  hand. 

' '  Good-night, ' '  he  said.  ' '  They  will  be  anxious 
about  me  at  the  Castle." 

It  was  the  gypsy's  turn  to  smile. 

' '  I  have  dealt  fairly  with  you, ' '  he  said ;  ' '  for 
that  which  is  now  to  come,  do  not  blame  me  when 
it  comes." 

"  Too  late  is  often  never,"  replied  Gavin 
lightly;  and  with  that  he  left  him. 

The  gypsy  girl,  Djala,  had  ceased  to  sing  as  he 
quitted  the  tent  and  the  rest  of  the  encampment 
was  in  darkness.  But  as  he  crossed  the  home 
park,  a  burly  figure  upon  a  black  horse  loomed 
up  suddenly  from  the  shadows  and  there  was  still 
moonlight  enough  for  him  to  recognize  the  Earl. 

*  *  He  is  going  to  his  gypsy  friends, ' '  Gavin  said 
to  himself.  "  Then  he  knows  that  this  brigand's 
son  has  spoken  to  me — ah,  I  wonder !  ' 


CHAPTER   XXII 

A   SPY   FBOM   BUKHABEST 

IT  is  an  English  characteristic  to  deride  the 
Europe  code  of  social  ethics  and  especially  those 
fine  heroics  which  attended  the  vindication  of 
what  is  so  often  miscalled  "  honor."  Whatever 
else  Gavin  Ord  lacked,  sound  common  sense  he 
had  abundantly;  and  that  came  to  his  aid  when 
he  returned  from  the  gypsy's  tent  to  the  Manor 
and  debated  the  odd  interview  which  he  had  so 
abruptly  terminated.  These  men,  he  said,  were 
mere  bravadoes;  but  they  might  be  dangerous 
none  the  less.  Of  Count  Odin  he  knew  nothing; 
but  his  antipathy  to  all  counts  was  ineradicable, 
and  he  had  come  to  number  them  together  as  so 
many  impostors,  valiants,  and  bankrupts.  This 
habit  of  thinking  first  led  him  to  the  supposition 
that  Lord  Melbourne,  his  host,  had  been  the 
victim  of  a  little  band  of  swindlers  and  was  about 
to  be  blackmailed  by  them  as  few  even  of  the  most 
unfortunate  degenerates  are  blackmailed,  even  in 
this  age  of  accomplished  roguery. 

1  i  It  is  a  hundred  to  one  old  Georges  Odin  is 
dead,"  he  argued;  "  this  son  of  his  got  the  story 
somehow  and  came  over  here  to  make  what  he 
could  by  it.  The  Earl  has  lost  his-nerve,  and  his 
love  for  Evelyn  is  betraying  him  into  cowardice. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          20$ 

I  shall  see  him  and  tell  him  the  truth.  If  they 
fire  off  pistols  at  me,  I  must  take  my  luck  in  my 
hand.  There  may  be  a  deeper  story — if  so,  I  shall 
find  it  out  when  the  time  comes.  I  am  now  to 
act  for  Evelyn's  sake  and  think  of  no  conse- 
quences which  do  not  concern  her.  Very  well,  I 
will  begin  to-morrow  and  the  Earl  is  my  first  step. 
He  shall  hear  everything.  When  he  has  done  so, 
I  shall  know  what  to  do. ' ' 

He  slept  upon  this,  but  it  was  a  broken  sleep 
whose  interludes  found  him  sitting  up  in  bed  lis- 
tening for  any  sounds  in  the  house,  and  repeating 
in  spite  of  himself  the  gypsy  threats.  He  could 
not  forget  that  some  one  had  watched  him  in  his 
sleep  when  first  he  came  to  Melbourne  Hall;  and 
this  unforgotten  figure  his  imagination  showed  ta 
him  again,  telling  him  that  it  crossed  the  room 
with  cat-like  steps  or  breathed  upon  his  face 
whenever  his  eyes  were  closed.  His  natural 
courage  made  nothing  of  the  darkness;  but  the 
suggestion  of  unknown  and  undisclosed  danger 
became  intolerable  as  the  night  advanced ;  and  at 
the  very  first  call  of  dawn,  he  drew  the  curtains 
back  and  waited  with  a  child's  longing  for  the  day. 
When  this  at  length  broke  above  the  night's  mists 
floating  up  from  the  river,  Gavin  rose  and  put  on 
his  dressing-gown,  being  quite  sure  that  sleep  had, 
for  the  time  being,  deserted  him.  True,  his  odd 
hallucination  that  some  one  was  in  the  room  with 
him  no  longer  troubled  him ;  but  certain  facts  dis- 
quieted him  none  the  less ;  and  of  these,  the  belief 
that  his  wallet  and  his  papers  had  been  ransacked 
during  the  night  was  not  the  least  alarming.  He 


204         THE    LADY    EVELYN 

felt  sure  that  lie  could  not  be  mistaken.  A  man 
of  method,  he  remembered  clearly  how  he  had 
placed  his  papers  and  in  what  order  he  had  left 
them.  Whoever  had  played  the  spy's  part  had 
done  so  clumsily,  forgetting  to  reclasp  the  wallet 
and  leaving  the  dressing-table  in  some  disorder. 
This  troubled  Gavin  less  than  the  knowledge  that 
some  one  had,  after  all,  watched  him  while  he  slept 
and  that  his  dream  had  not  deceived  him.  ' i  They 
take  me  for  a  spy  from  Bukharest, ' '  he  said  .  .  . 
and  he  could  laugh  at  the  delusion. 

It  would  have  been  about  five  o'clock  of  the 
morning  by  this  time ;  a  glorious  hour,  full  of  the 
sweet  breath  of  day  and  of  that  sense  of  life  and 
being  which  is  the  daydawn's  gift.  Gavin  knew 
little  of  the  habits  of  grooms,  save  that  they  were 
the  people  who  were  supposed  to  rise  with  the  sun ; 
but  when  an  hour  had  passed  he  went  out  im- 
patiently to  the  stables,  and  there  the  excellent 
"William  found  him  a  "  rare  ould  divil  of  a  hoss  ' 
and  one  that  "  came  just  short  of  winnin'  the 
National,  to  be  sure  he  did."  This  raw-boned 
cantankerous  brute  carried  him  at  a  sound  gallop 
twice  round  the  home  park;  and,  greatly  re- 
freshed, he  returned  to  the  Hall  and  asked  the 
apologetic  Griggs  if  the  Earl  were  yet  down.  The 
answer  that  "  his  lordship  was  awaiting  him  in 
the  Long  Gallery,"  hardly  surprised  him.  He 
felt  sure  that  the  recognition  last  night  had  been 
mutual. 

"  Zallony's  son  has  told  him,"  he  said;  "  very 
well,  I  will  go  and  ask  him  to  give  me  Evelyn. ' ' 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         205 

The  Earl  sat  at  a  little  table  placed  in  one  of 
the  embrasures  of  the  Gallery.  He  had  aged 
greatly  these  last  few  weeks,  and  there  were  lines 
upon  his  face  that  had  not  been  there  when  Gavin 
first  came  to  Moretown.  A  close  observer  would 
have  said  that  the  habit  of  sleep  had  long  de- 
serted him.  This  his  eyes  betrayed,  being  glassy 
in  their  abstracted  gaze  and  rarely  resting  upon 
any  object  as  though  to  observe  it  for  more  than 
an  instant.  When  Gavin  entered,  a  tremulous 
hand  indicated  a  chair  drawn  up  near  by  the  table. 
The  Earl  was  the  first  to  speak  and  he  did  so  with 
averted  gaze  and  in  a  loud  voice  which  failed  to 
conceal  the  hesitation  of  his  words. 

"  I  hear  of  your  unfortunate  accident  for  the 
first  time,  Mr.  Ord,"  he  said  slowly.  "  Let  me 
implore  you  to  run  no  more  risks  of  the  kind.  The 
Belfry  Tower  is  too  old  to  write  new  histories." 

Gavin  replied  with  an  immediate  admission  of 
that  which  he  owed  to  Evelyn's  bravery. 

"  But  for  your  daughter,  my  lord,"  he  said, 
"  I  should  not  be  here  this  morning  to  speak  to 
you  of  very  grave  things.  Please  do  not  think 
me  insensible  of  your  kindness  if  I  mention  that 
at  once.  I  have  asked  Lady  Evelyn  to  be  my 
wife  and  she  has  given  her  consent.  Naturally 
I  tell  you  of  this  upon  the  first  possible  occasion. 
You  know  something  of  my  story,  or  you  .rould 
not  have  paid  me  the  compliment  of  asking  me 
here.  I  have  an  assured  income  of  some  two  thou- 
sand a  year,  and,  with  your  friendship,  I  should 
double  it  in  as  many  years.  That  is  a  vulgar  state- 
ment, but  necessary.  My  father  was  Lord  Justice 


206          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

Ord,  as  you  possibly  knew ;  my  dear  mother  is  the 
daughter  of  Sir  Francis  Winnington,  of  Audley 
Court,  Suffolk.  These  things,  I  know,  must  be 
talked  about  at  such  times,  so  please  bear  with  me. 
I  am  sure  that  Evelyn  would  wish  me  to  continue 
in  the  profession  I  have  chosen;  and,  with  your 
consent,  I  shall  do  so.  There  is  nothing  else  I 
can  tell  you  if  it  is  not  to  say  how  very  deeply  I 
love  your  daughter  and  that  I  believe  her  love  for 
me  is  not  less." 

The  Earl  heard  him  without  remark.  When  he 
had  finished  he  made  no  immediate  response, 
seeming  to  lack  words  rather  than  decision. 

' '  Mr.  Ord, ' '  he  said  at  length,  ' '  you  had  every 
right  to  speak  to  Evelyn.  I  make  no  complaint 
of  it.  But  she  cannot  be  your  wife,  for  if  she  is 
not  already  the  betrothed  of  another,  there  is  at 
least  an  honorable  understanding  that  she  will 
make  no  marriage  until  he  has  been  heard  again. 
This  affair  must  begin  and  end  to-day.  If  I  am 
no  longer  able  to  ask  you  to  remain  my  guest  here, 
you  will  understand  my  difficulty.  I  cannot  an- 
swer you  in  any  other  way.  For  your  sake  I  wish 
indeed  that  I  could." 

Gavin  had  fully  expected  this;  but  it  did  not 
disconcert  him  in  any  way.  The  battle  which  he 
must  waee  for  Evelyn's  sake  had  but  begun. 
Settling-  nimself  in  his  chair  and  looking  the  Earl 
full  in  his  face,  he  said : 

"  Does  Lady  Evelyn  know  of  this,  my  lord? 
Is  this  the  answer  she  wishes  you  to  give  me?  ' 

' '  In  no  sense.  But  I  speak  as  one  who  consults 
her  interests  before  all  things." 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         207 

Gavin  smiled  perceptibly. 

1 '  Forgive  me,  Lord  Melbourne, ' '  he  said ;  ' 1  but 
all  this  is  so  very  characteristic  of  your  house  and 
its  history.  A  hundred  years  ago  it  would  have 
sounded  well  enough  and  I  should  have  called  a 
coach  obediently  as  any  gentleman  of  those  days 
would  have  felt  obliged  to  do.  But  we  live  in 
the  twentieth  century,  my  lord,  when  men  and 
women  have  learned  the  meaning  of  the  word  lib- 
erty .  .  .  when  the  desires  and  schemes  of 
other  people " 

"  Schemes,  Mr.  Ord " 

* l  No  other  word  is  possible.  You  do  not  desire 
the  marriage  for  purely  selfish  reasons.  I  am  not 
impertinent  enough  to  inquire  into  them,  but  Eve- 
lyn has  told  me  something,  and  the  rest  I  deduce 
from  the  answer  you  have  just  given  me.  To 
save  yourself,  my  lord,  you  would  marry  your 
daughter  to  a  scoundrel,  who  is  known  for  such 
in  his  own  country  and  ours ;  and,  when  you  did  it, 
some  false  logic  would  try  to  tell  you  that  it  was 
for  the  sake  of  your  home  and  name;  while  all 
the  time  it  is  done  to  save  you  some  inconvenience, 
some  penalty  you  should  in  justice  pay  to  the  past. 
I  am  not  so  blind  that  I  cannot  see  the  things 
which  are  happening  all  around  me.  Evelyn's  con- 
sent to  my  proposal  gives  me  this  right  to  speak 
plainly  to  you,  in  her  interests  and  my  own.  Would 
you  not  be  wiser,  my  lord,  to  deal  with  me  as  I 
am  dealing  with  you — to  tell  me  in  a  word  why 
this  stranger  can  coerce  you  when  an  Englishman 
is  answered  in  a  word?  I  think  that  you  would. 
I  think  it  would  be  well  if  you  said, '  Here  is  a  man 


208         THE    LADY    EVELYN 

who  wishes  to  be  my  friend  and  will  be  so  re- 
gardless of  the  consequences. '  ' ' 

The  boldness  of  his  utterance  found  the  Earl 
altogether  unarmed.  Under  other  circumstances 
he  would  have  wrung  the  bell  and  ordered  a  car- 
riage for  Mr.  Gavin  Ord;  but  the  whole  problem 
was  too  full  of  perplexities  for  that.  It  may  be 
that  Lord  Melbourne  was  fully  alive  both  to  the 
truths  and  falsehoods  of  his  position.  He  had 
done  a  man  a  great  wrong  and  that  man's  son 
had  crossed  Europe  to  bid  him  right  the  wrong 
and  act  justly.  How  easy  would  it  all  have  been 
if  Evelyn  had  loved  this  son  and  married  him! 
No  story  then  to  delight  a  scandal-loving  multi- 
tude; no  fear,  growing  upon  weak  nerves,  that 
the  man  who  had  suffered  might  avenge  his 
wrong.  Yes,  Evelyn  could  save  him  .  .  .  and 
here  was  a  stranger  who  forbade  her  to  do  so. 

"  You  speak  very  freely,"  he  said  to  Gavin 
presently.  "  I  will  do  you  the  justice  to  believe 
that  you  also  speak  honestly.  If  Evelyn  has  told 
you  anything,  it  will  be  that  Count  Odin  is  the 
son  of  one  of  my  oldest  friends." 

"  I  have  learned  that  from  two  sources,"  said 
Gavin.  "  Will  you  let  me  add,  my  lord,  that  you 
are  probably  speaking  of  a  man  who  is  dead? " 

The  Earl  started  and  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Have  you  any  knowledge  of  that?  ' 

"  None  whatever,  but  I  have  heard  of  Count 
Odin's  story." 

f '  He  is  as  other  young  men,  I  suppose ;  neither 
better  nor  worse " 

"  .While,  for  the  daughter  you  love,  you  would 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          209 

have  chosen  just  such  a  man.     Is  that  so,  my 
lord?  " 

Here  was  a  shrewd  hit,  going  straight  to  the 
heart  of  one  who,  for  fifteen  long  years,  had 
striven  to  shield  his  daughter  from  that  whichi 
her  dead  mother's  genius  had  bequeathed  to  her 
—the  life  and  passion  of  the  East;  the  nomad's, 
craving  for  change  and  excitement;  the  gilt  and 
tinsel  of  the  theatre.  Yes,  truly,  they  had  beer* 
years  of  self-sacrifice  and  of  ceaseless  vigil — to> 
end  in  this  spectre  of  youth  reborn  and  of  ven- 
geance awake. 

"  Mr.  Ord,"  he  said,  "  I  perceive  that  my 
story  is  known  to  you.  Your  judgment  of  me  is 
what  the  world's  judgment  would  be  if  half  the 
truth  were  known — and,  remember,  it  is  rarely 
more  than  half  a  truth  that  the  world  comes  to> 
possess.  I  am  acting,  you  say,  not  from  a  desire 
to  do  the  best  for  my  daughter,  but  to  shield  my- 
self. It  may  be  so,  for  men  are  blind  enough  when 
their  own  salvation  is  at  stake.  At  the  same  time,, 
there  are  reasons  other  than  these,  and  such  that 
you  will  hardly  discover.  I  believe  it  is  very 
necessary  to  Evelyn's  happiness  that  this  story 
shall  be  hushed  up,  for  the  time  being  at  any  rate~ 
But  I  have  made  no  promise  to  Count  Odin  other 
than  those  you  know.  If  his  father  is  still  a  pris- 
oner in  the  mines  at  Yoliska,  then  I  will  do  my 
best  to  obtain  his  liberty  when  I  have  assurances 
that  such  liberty  will  not  be  used  to  my  disad- 
vantage or  to  Evelyn's.  I  tell  you  upon  iny  word 
as  an  Englishman  that  I  am  guiltless  of  such, 
knowledge.  When  he  fought  with  me  in 


210          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

barest,  more  than  twenty  years  ago,  I  met  him 
as  a  man  of  honor  and  nearly  paid  with  my  life 
for  the  folly.  They  now  assert  that  my  friends 
laid  the  complaint  which  induced  the  Roumanian 
Government  to  arrest  him.  I  do  not  believe  it 
to  be  true.  Georges  Odin,  the  records  say,  died 
in  the  fortress  prison  of  Krajova  nearly  ten  years 
ago.  Prince  Charles'  Government  arrested  him, 
I  admit,  on  the  score  of  the  duel  he  fought  with 
me;  but  they  had  been  trying  to  arrest  him  for 
many  years,  and  that  was  their  excuse.  Of  the 
rest  I  knew  nothing.  If  he  is  dead " 

' '  My  lord,  have  you  taken  no  steps  to  ascertain 
the  truth  of  his  death!  ' 

"  My  solicitors  are  now  making  all  inquiries  at 
Bukharest  and  Krajova." 

"  I  should  have  thought  that  solicitors  were 
scarcely  the  people  to  employ." 

11  Who  else  is  to  be  trusted  with  such  a  story 
as  this?  " 

11  I  am,  Lord  Melbourne." 

"  You — but  you  are  a  stranger  to  me  and  my 
house." 

*  *  A  stranger  who  is  willing  to  become  a  friend. 
Say  that  you  will  put  no  opposition  in  my  way 
and  I  will  begin  my  task  at  once. ' ' 

11  I  appreciate  your  offer,  but  must  decline  it. 
[Acceptance  would  imply  an  obligation  I  am  un- 
willing to  recognize." 

"  I  ask  for  no  recognition.  To-night,  my  lord, 
I  leave  London  for  Bukharest.  In  a  month  or 
less  I  will  return  to  tell  you  whether  Georges 
Odin  is  alive  or  dead. ' ' 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          211 

The  Earl  stared  at  him  amazed. 

"  Bring  me  news  of  Georges  Odin's  death," 
he  said,  "  and  you  shall  marry  my  daughter." 

Gavin  rose  and  offered  him  his  hand. 

"  I  will  start  directly  I  have  seen  the  Lady 
Evelyn,"  he  said. 


BOOK  III 
THE   LIGHT 

CHAPTEE   XXIII 

BUKHAEEST 

"  IN  America,  my  dear  Gavin,  they  would  cer- 
tainly name  you  for  a  very  prince  of  hustlers. ' ' 

The  speaker,  a  lad  of  twenty-two  years  of  age, 
leaned  back  indolently  in  his  chair  and  sipped  a 
tiny  cup  of  Turkish  coffee  with  lazy  satisfaction. 
Gifted  with  brown  curly  hair,  ridiculously  blue 
eyes,  and  a  beardless  chin,  Cambridge  had  named 
him  ironically  "  the  Lamb."  His  name  was  Ar- 
thur Kenyon,  and  there  had  been  no  prettier 
athlete  in  all  London  when  he  was  there,  precisely 
ten  days  ago. 

"  Yes,"  he  went  on,  "  you  lure  me  to  this  place, 
which  might  be  half  a  mile  at  the  most  from  the 
infernal  regions,  and  promise  me  a  ripping  holi- 
day. I  come  like  a  sheep  to  the  shearing  and 
what  is  my  reward  ?  Hours  of  self -contemplation 
— long  musings  upon  an  innocent  past,  and  the 
thermometer  at  112°  Fahrenheit  in  the  shade.  Ye 
gods,  what  a  thing  to  be  a  travelling  English- 
man! " 

They  sat  in  the  restaurant  of  the  Hotel  Mos- 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          213 

kowa  at  Bukharest,  justly  famous,  as  the  English 
boy  had  said,  for  its  historic  prices  and  ancient 
meats,  long  matured.  Gavin  Ord,  grown  a  little 
older  since  he  left  Derbyshire  some  fifteen  days 
ago,  had  a  map  of  Roumania  before  him  and  all 
his  intentions  appeared  to  be  concentrated  upon 
this.  The  restaurant,  despite  the  season  of  the 
year,  could  show  a  fair  array  of  pretty  women  in 
Vienna  gowns  and  of  little  gold-laced  officers  who 
chaperoned  them.  The  heat  of  the  night  had  be- 
come intense  and  a  great  block  of  ice  upon  a  mar- 
ble pedestal  melted  visibly  as  though  despairing 
of  the  effort  to  exist.  Energy  might  have  been 
deemed  a  forgotten  art  but  for  the  frantic  exer- 
tions of  a  typical  gypsy  band  which  fiddled  as 
though  its  very  salvation  depended  upon  the  mar- 
vels of  its  presto. 

* '  My  dear  Arthur, ' '  said  Gavin  at  length,  fold- 
ing up  his  map  and  lighting  a  cigarette  with  the 
air  of  one  who  is  thinking  of  anything  but  a 
smoker's  pleasure,  "  I  am  a  beast,  certainly. 
But.  then,  I  am  a  successful  beast." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  have  found 
him?  " 

"  Good  Master  Indiscretion — I  have  found  the 
house  which  Cook  built  and  I  am  going  to  visit 
it  to-morrow." 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course,  that  ancient  and  interest- 
ing Roman  building  .  .  .  well,  I  always 
wanted  to  see  Roumania,  and,  of  course,  we  shall 
do  Buda-Pesth  going  back.  By  the  way,  do  you 
notice  that  acrobat  playing  the  'cello  over  there! 
Don't  turn  round  yet.  He's  been  watching  you 


214          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

ever  since  we  sat  down  just  as  though  he  loved 
you  dearly." 

Gavin  smoked  for  a  little  while  without  shifting 
his  position  in  any  way.  Presently  he  said : 

"  I  don't  know  why  he  should.  Unless  they 
watched  me  from  London,  which  is  not  improb- 
able, they  are  hardly  likely  to  know  of  my  arrival 
yet.  When  you  have  drunk  your  coffee,  we'll  go 
and  take  a  turn  on  the  Corso.  The  'cellist  cer- 
tainly likes  me.  I  see  what  you  mean." 

Half  Bukharest  seemed  to  have  flocked  to  the 
Corso,  or  public  park,  by  the  time  they  arrived 
there.  Even  the  innumerable  gaming  tables, 
which  are  the  chief  fame  of  the  pretentious  city, 
were  deserted  upon  such  a  night  as  this ;  while  the 
open-air  cafes  were  so  many  illuminated  ice- 
houses, thronged  by  perspiring  civilians  and 
equally  perspiring  soldiers,  whose  talk  began  and 
ended  with  an  anathema  upon  the  heat.  Gavin 
Ord  had  travelled  but  little;  his  one  real  friend, 
Arthur  Kenyon,  had  already  been  half  across  the 
world  and  back ;  but  for  both  the  interests  of  this 
strange  scene,  with  its  babble  of  excited  tongues, 
its  Hungarians,  Servians,  Bulgarians,  Rouman- 
ians, and  by  no  means  least  numerous,  its  sallow- 
faced  Turks,  were  beyond  any  within  their  ex- 
perience. 

"  No  wonder  the  people  at  the  Ministry  tell  you 
to  be  careful,"  said  Kenyon  amiably,  as  he 
pointed  to  a  great  Bashi-Bazouk  whose  very  mus- 
tache might  have  been  inflammable.  "  I  would 
sooner  meet  a  Chinese  mandarin  than  that  fellow 
anywhere.  And  there  are  plenty  more  of  the 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          215 

kind,  you  see.  All  sorts,  shapes  and  sizes,  ready  to 
cut  your  throat  for  a  golden  coin  any  day  you  may 
be  wanting  the  job  done." 

"  All  sham,  my  dear  Arthur.  Knives  made  in 
Birmingham  and  pistols  in  Germany!  Don't 
worry  your  head  about  them.  We  start  for  Okna 
at  seven  o'clock  to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  you've  found  out  where  it  is,  then?  " 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you  before  dinner,  but  these 
fellows  were  listening.  Cecil  Chesny  was  at  the 
Ministry  to-day  and  he  could  not  have  done  more 
for  me.  Okna  means  a  stiff  ride  into  the  moun- 
tains and  some  hunting  when  we  get  there.  If  the 
old  man,  Georges  Odin,  is  alive,  he  is  at  Okna. 
Our  task  is  to  persuade  him  that  London  is  a 
healthier  place " 

"  And  the  son,  this  man  they  call  the  Count, 
what  of  him!  ' 

"  I  can  learn  little.  He  has  evidently  been 
living  on  his  wits  for  a  long  time.  He  was  here 
a  fortnight  ago  throwing  promises  to  his  cred- 
itors right  and  left.  The  local  papers  announce 
his  engagement  to  Lord  Melbourne's  daughter— 
they  spell  it,  "  Sir  Lord  Milbawn,"  and  declares 
that  he  is  going  up  to  buy  the  old  Castle  at 
Gravitza.  I  don't  believe  he  is  in  Bukharest  to- 
day— if  he  is,  well,  I  must  look  out  for  myself, 
and  you  must  help  to  look  out  for  me.  The  rest 
depends  upon  his  father.  I  could  go  back  to 
England  to-night  and  tell  the  Earl  that  Georges 
Odin  was  released  four  years  ago  from  the  mines 
at  Prahova,  but  that  would  not  help  me.  The 
Count  would  go  back  and  blackmail  them  again 


'$16          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

on  the  score  of  what  his  friends,  the  gypsies, 
meant  to  do.  No,  I  shall  bring  the  father  if  he 
is  to  be  brought,  and  carry  my  purchase  back  to 
England.  That's  my  plan,  Arthur.  Time  will 
prove  whether  it's  clever  or  foolish." 

Arthur  Kenyon  listened  as  one  listens  to  the  tale 
of  an  Eastern  romance.  Gavin  had  told  him  the 
^rhole  story  before  they  left  London;  but  here  in 
Bukharest  it  seemed  so  much  easier  to  compre- 
liend,  amid  a  people  Careless  of  life  and  little  un- 
jacquainted  with  death.  All  the  gauds  of  passion, 
of  love,  and  hatred  were  known  to  this  mean  city. 
Here,  at  least,  it  did  not  appear  difficult  to  under- 
stand how  Count  Odin,  the  adventurer,  having 
jheard  the  history  of  Eobert  Forrester's  youth 
and  of  his  present  wealth,  had  set  out  for  England 
determined  to  profit  by  his  knowledge. 

' '  We  have  no  color  in  our  roguery  in  London, ' ' 
Arthur  said  presently.  "  It's  all  just  one  drab 
tint — the  same  color  as  the  yellow  press  that  de- 
lights in  it.  Here  one  begins  to  understand  why 
the  fittest  survive.  You  are  a  pretty  plucky  chap, 
Cravin,  or  you  would  not  take  it  so  easily ' 

"  Not  for  a  woman's  sake,  Arthur?  ' 

"  Oh,  well,  I  suppose  if  one  is  sufficiently  in 
love,  one  would  hack  at  Cerberus  for  a  woman's 
sake.  I  am  less  fettered.  Here  in  Bukharest  I 
begin  to  wonder  whether  I  shall  die  for  the  charm- 
ing Lucy  or  the  equally  beautiful  Lucinda.  You 
.have  no  doubts.  My  dear  old  fellow,  I'm  afraid 
you're  in  deadly  earnest." 

"  So  much  in  earnest,  Arthur,  that  if  I  cannot 
I* 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          217 

go  back  to  make  Evelyn  my  wife,  I  will  never  go 
back  at  all." 

"  Eros  living  in  a  dirty  Roumanian  hotel  on 
ancient  meats !  No,  by  all  the  gods.  But,  tell  me, 
does  your  friend  Chesny  think  you  are  unwise 
to  go  to  Okna?  " 

"  He  says  I  am  mad.  I  told  him  as  much  as  I 
had  the  right  to  tell.  Odin,  the  son,  is  a  swindler ; 
but  his  gypsy  friends  are  honest.  They  believe 
that  an  Englishman  shut  up  one  of  their  heroes' 
for  twenty  years;  and  if  they  can  find  the  man 
who  did  it,  they  will  kill  him.  There's  the  Count's 
chance.  I  am  going  one  better  by  offering  to  take 
his  father  to  England  to  meet  the  man  who 
wronged  him  and  say  that  the  vendetta  is  at  an 
end.  A  mad  scheme!  Yes.  Well,  possibly,  mad 
schemes  are  better  than  the  others  sometimes,  and 
this  may  be  the  particular  instance.  I  will  tell 
you  when  we  get  to  Okna,  if  ever  we  get  there." 

' '  Then  you  are  plainly  not  an  optimist. ' ' 

11  Hush — there's  your  old  friend  the  'cellist, 
going  home  it  appears.  A  gypsy  to  the  finger 
tips,  Arthur.  Let  us  talk  of  the  weather!  ' 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

THE   PEICE   OF   WISDOM 

AN  Eastern  sun,  monstrous  and  molten  and 
blinking  tears  of  fire,  dwelt  an  instant  in  the  West 
ere  it  sank  beneath  the  rim  of  the  mountains,  be- 
yond which  lies  the  river  Danube.  Instantly,  as 
though  by  a  wizard's  enchantment,  the  heat  spell 
passed  from  the  face  of  the  withered  land  and  the 
sweetness  of  the  night  came  down.  All  the  woods 
were  alive  now,  as  though  the  voice  of  Even  had 
bidden  them  rejoice.  Birds  appeared,  flitting 
from  the  swaying  boughs  of  oak  and  elm  and  syca- 
more. Springs  bubbled  over  as  though  rejoicing 
that  their  enemy  slept.  Life  that  had  been  dor- 
mant but  ten  minutes  ago  answered  to  the  reveille 
of  twilight  and  added  a  note  musical  to  the  song. 
Men  breathed  a  full  breath  of  the  soft  breezes  and 
said  that  it  was  good  to  live.  The  very  landscape, 
revealing  new  beauties  in  the  mellow  light,  might 
have  been  sensible  of  the  hour  and  its  meaning. 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  second  day  after 
Gavin  Ord  and  his  friend  Arthur  Kenyon  had 
dined  together  in  the  Hotel  Moskowa  at  Bukharest. 
A  railway  and  twelve  hours '  abuse  of  its  tardiness 
had  carried  them  a  stage  upon  this  journey.  Will- 
ing Hungarian  ponies,  mules,  in  whose  eyes  the 
negative  virtues  might  be  read,  brought  them  to 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          219 

the  foot  of  the  mountains  and  left  them  there  to 
camp  with  what  luxury  they  might.  Attended  by 
a  sleek  Turk  they  had  discovered  in  the  Capital, 
their  escort  boasted  no  less  than  four  heroes  of 
the  line — for  this  had  been  Cecil  Chesny's  un- 
alterable determination,  that  they  should  not  go 
to  the  mountains  alone. 

"  It's  a  fool's  errand  and  may  be  dangerous," 
said  he ;  "  these  soldiers  are  thieves,  but  they  will 
see  that  no  one  else  robs  you.  I  will  ask  the  Min- 
istry to  pick  out  as  good  specimens  as  he  can. 
Don't  complain  when  you  see  them.  They  are 
much  less  harmless  than  they  look." 

Gavin  did  not  like  the  business  at  all,  but  as 
Chesny's  good- will  was  necessary  to  the  expedi- 
tion, he  put  up  with  it,  and  the  four  shabby  sol- 
diers accompanied  him  from  Bukharest.  They 
were  ill-mannered  fellows  enough,  raw-boned, 
high-cheeked,  sallow-faced  ruffians,  whose  "  para- 
dise enow ' '  could  be  found  wherever  good  comely, 
plump  girls  and  bad  tobacco  might  be  found. 
Their  energy  at  meal-times  became  truly  prodig- 
ious. They  were  as  ravenous  wolves,  seeking  what 
they  might  devour;  and,  as  Arthur  Kenyon  re- 
marked, they  would  have  eaten  his  boots  if  he  had 
taken  them  off. 

Now,  this  pretty  company,  Englishmen,  Rou- 
manians, a  Greek  and  a  Turk,  encamped  in  the 
woods  together  upon  the  evening  of  the  second  day, 
and  found  what  comfort  they  could  beneath  the 
sheltering  leaves  of  a  spacious  beech.  It  had  been 
Gavin's  intention  to  put  up  at  a  guest-house 
named  by  the  guide-book  he  had  purchased  in 


220          THE   .LADY    EVELYN 

Vienna;  but  when  they  came  to  the  place  where 
the  irm  should  have  stood,  they  discovered  nothing 
but  charred  ruins  and  cinerous  relics ;  and,  ' '  by 
all  the  gods, ' '  said  Arthur  Kenyon, ' '  the  red  cock 
has  crowed  here  before  us."  A  romantic  ear 
would  have  listened  greedily  at  such  a  time  to 
the  guide's  tales  of  border  pleasantries — girls 
carried  shrieking  to  the  mountains,  roofs  blazing, 
priests  burned  in  their  holy  oils,  babes  hoist  on 
bayonets — for  such  they  would  have  made  a  sim- 
ple affair  in  which  a  drunken  herdsman  and  a 
paraffin  lamp  had  figured  notably ;  but  Gavin  was 
in  no  mood  for  narratives,  and  he  sent  them  to 
the  right  about,  one  for  wood,  another  for  water, 
a  third  to  hunt  a  cot  or  homestead,  if  such  were 
to  be  discovered. 

"  The  Hotel  of  the  Belle  feoile  after  all,"  he 
said  gloomily;  "  well,  it  might  have  been  worse, 
Arthur. ' ' 

"  Just  so.  If  I  had  not  stocked  your  larder  at 
Slavitesti,  you  would  now  be  doing  what  the  ami- 
able Foulon  advised  the  French  people  to  do  a 
hundred  years  ago — eating  hay  with  relish,  my 
dear  boy.  Well,  there's  red  wine  strong  enough 
to  poison  White  Bull,  and  maize  bread  tough 
enough  for  a  guinea  set  of  ready-made  grinders, 
to  say  nothing  of  cheese,  sausage,  and  biscuits. 
Fall  on,  Macduff,  and  damned  be  he  who  eats 
enough!  " 

"  I  don't  care  twopence  about  the  food,"  said 
Gavin  savagely;  "  it's  the  delay  I  fret  over.  We 
may  be  within  riding  distance  of  the  place  for  all 
I  know.  They  could  have  told  us  at  this  inn." 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          221 

' '  The  boy  on  the  burning  deck  grown  eloquent. 
We  might  have  put  out  the  fire  for  them  or  com- 
forted some  of  the  ladies.  Are  you  really  in  such 
a  hurry,  Gavin?  " 

' '  Judge  for  yourself.  From  the  Castle  at  Okna 
I  can  write  to  Evelyn  and  tell  her  the  truth.  Until 
it  is  told,  she  will  be  the  daily  victim  of  a  rogue's 
plausible  suggestions.  Why,  the  man  may  have 
returned  to  Derbyshire  by  this  time — all  that  is 
possible  and  more." 

11  And  there  was  a  great  square  moon  in  the 
sky  and  thereon  the  people  read  the  story  of  the 
Jaberwock.  Tell  me  frankly,  would  Evelyn  lis- 
ten to  the  man  now?  ' 

"  Evelyn  would  not,  but  Etta  Romney  might. 
Enigmas — I  shall  not  explain  them.  Let  us  go  to 
supper.  The  day  will  come  after  the  centuries." 

"  Gavin,  my  dear  fellow — this  is  the  ancient 
fever.  I  bow  to  it.  Pass  the  wine  and  I'll  drink 
to  your  enigma.  We  are  people  of  importance 
and  our  escort  is  a  royal  one.  It  is  also  musical. 
That  song  suggests  Seigfried  or  is  it  the  *  Belle  of 
New  York  "?  My  musical  education  was  com- 
pleted at  Magdalen  College  within  Cambridge  and 
is  incomplete." 

He  frivolled  on  as  young  men  will,  not  without 
purpose,  for  Gavin's  anxiety  was  potent  to  all 
about  him.  It  had  seemed  an  easy  thing  in  Eng- 
land to  visit  the  near  East  and  learn  for  himself 
the  simple  truth  of  Georges  Odin's  fate.  Here 
on  the  slopes  of  the  mountains  he  began  to  under- 
stand his  difficulties,  perhaps  the  danger,  of  his 
pursuit.  For  this,  he  remembered,  had  been  the 


222          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

scene  of  Kobert  Forrester's  youth,  this  the  home 
of  Zallony,  the  revolutionary  brigand  upon  whose 
head  three  countries  had  set  a  price.  Time  had 
not  changed  the  disposition  of  the  mountain 
people,  nor  had  civilization  influenced  its  social 
creeds.  Beware  of  Zallony's  gypsies,  they  had 
said  to  him  at  Bukharest.  This  night  had  brought 
him  within  a  post  of  his  goal.  It  would  be  hard 
enough  if  any  mischance  should  send  him  back  to 
England  empty-handed;  to  say  to  Evelyn,  "  I 
have  failed;  I  can  tell  you  nothing." 

Arthur  Kenyon,  for  his  part,  had  begun  to  en- 
joy the  whole  adventure  amazingly.  Especially 
he  liked  the  four  merry  soldiers  who  ate  and 
drank  as  though  they  had  been  fasting  and  athirst 
for  a  week,  and  lay  down  afterwards  to  fall  in- 
stantly to  sleep.  In  this  the  Greek  muleteer  and 
the  Turkish  robber  of  all  trades  imitated  them 
without  loss  of  time ;  so  that  by  nine  o  'clock  noth- 
ing but  the  red  glow  of  two  English  pipes  and  the 
sonorous  nasal  thank-offerings  of  the  sleepers 
would  have  betrayed  the  camp  or  its  occupants. 
Such  conversation  as  passed  between  Gavin  and 
Arthur  was  in  fitful  whispers,  the  talk  of  men 
thoroughly  fatigued  and  wistful  for  the  day. 
They,  too,  dropped  to  sleep  over  it  at  last,  and 
when  they  awoke  it  was  to  such  a  scene  as  neither 
would  ever  forget,  however  long  he  might  live. 

Gavin  slept  without  dreaming,  the  first  night 
he  had  done  so  since  he  left  England.  He  could 
remember  afterwards  that  his  friend's  voice 
awoke  him  from  his  heavy  slumber;  and  that, 
when  he  sat  up  and  stared  about  him,  Arthur  Ken- 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         223 

yon  was  the  first  person  his  eyes  rested  upon. 
Instantaneously,  as  one  sees  a  picture  in  a  vision, 
the  scene  of  the  camp  presented  itself  to  his  view 
— the  great  trunks  of  the  oaks  and  beeches,  the 
hollow,  wherein  the  horses  were  tethered,  the  tan- 
gle of  grass  and  undergrowth.  Just  as  he  had 
seen  it  when  he  fell  asleep,  so  the  reddening  em- 
bers of  the  camp-fire  showed  it  to  him  now — un- 
changed, and  yet  how  different !  He  was,  for  this 
brief  instant,  as  a  sleeper  who  wakes  in  a  familiar 
room  and  wonders  why  he  has  been  awakened. 
Then,  just  as  rapidly,  the  scales  fell  from  his  eyes 
and  he  knew. 

Arthur  Kenyon  stood  with  his  back  against  the 
trunk  of  a  beech,  his  revolver  drawn  and  about 
him  such  a  motley  crowd  that  only  a  comic  opera 
could  have  reproduced  it.  Gypsies  chiefly,  the 
fire-light  flashed  upon  sallow  faces  which  a  man 
might  see  in  an  evil  dream;  upon  arms  that  a 
mediaeval  age  should  have  forged ;  upon  limbs  that 
forest  labor  had  trained  to  hardiness.  Crying  to- 
gether in  not  unmusical  exclamations,  the  raiders 
appeared  in  no  way  desirous  of  injuring  their 
man,  but  only  of  disarming  him.  One  of  their 
number  lay  prone  already,  hugging  a  wounded 
thigh  and  muttering  imprecations  which  should 
have  brought  the  heavens  upon  his  head — a  second 
had  the  Englishman  by  the  legs  and  would  not  be 
beaten  off;  while  of  the  rest,  the  foremost  aimed 
heavy  blows  at  the  extended  pistol  and  demanded 
its  delivery  in  sonorous  German.  Such  was  the 
scene  which  the  picture  presented  to  Gavin  as 


224          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

lie  awoke.  He  was  on  his  feet  before  the  full 
meaning  of  it  could  be  comprehended. 

"  Halt!  "  he  cried,  for  lack  of  any  other  word 
to  serve.  His  tone,  his  manner,  drew  all  eyes 
toward  him.  "  What  do  you  want!  "  he  contin- 
ued, with  the  same  air  of  authority.  Twenty 
voices  answered  him,  but  he  could  make  nothing 
of  their  reply.  He  was  about  to  speak  for  the 
third  time  when  rough  hands  pinioned  his  arms 
and  feet  from  behind  and  instantly  deprived  him 
of  the  power  to  move  a  step  from  the  place  where 
he  stood. 

"  To  conduct  your  excellency  to  the  Castle  of 
Okna — we  have  come  for  that,  excellency." 

'  *  You  are  aware  that  I  am  an  Englishman  ?  ' 

The  gypsy  pointed  smilingly  to  his  wounded 
friend. 

"  We  are  perfectly  aware  of  it,  excellency." 

"  Then  you  know  the  consequences  of  that 
which  you  are  doing!  " 

11  Pardon,  excellency — there  are  no  conse- 
quences in  the  mountains.  Let  your  friend  be 
wise  and  put  up  his  pistol.  We  shall  shoot  him 
if  he  does  not." 

Gavin,  doubting  the  nature  of  the  situation  no 
longer,  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  invited  Ken- 
yon  by  a  gesture  to  put  up  his  pistol. 

"  We  can  do  nothing,  Arthur,  let  them  have 
their  way." 

' '  I  beg  your  pardon,  Gavin ;  I  could  make  holes 
in  two  or  three  of  them." 

' '  It  would  not  help  us.  They  are  evidently  only 
agents.  Let's  hear  what  the  principal  has  to  say. ' ' 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         225 

"  Very  well,  if  you  think  so.  It's  poor  fun, 
though — almost  like  shooting  sheep  in  the  High- 
lands. But,  of  course,  I  bow  to  wisdom." 

He  held  out  his  hands  to  the  gypsy  who  bound 
them  immediately  with  a  leather  thong  taken  from 
the  saddle-bow  of  the  excellent  pony  he  had  rid- 
den. Silently  and  methodically  now,  the  men 
secured  their  prisoners  and  produced  their  gyves 
of  heavy  rope.  To  resist  would  have  been  just 
that  madness  which  Gavin  named  it — and  but  for 
Evelyn  the  scene  had  been  one  to  jest  at. 

"  Do  you  treat  all  your  guests  at  the  Castle  of 
Okna  in  this  way?  "  he  asked  the  leader  of  the 
men  suddenly. 

The  reply  was  delivered  with  a  suavity  de- 
lightful to  hear. 

"  When  they  come  to  us  with  soldiers  and 
Turks,  then  we  speak  plainly  to  them,  excellency. ' ' 

11  True,  I  had  forgotten  the  soldiers.  Where 
are  those  noble  men  now?  ' 

<r  Half -way  back  to  Slavitesti,  excellency." 

"  And  the  muleteer?  " 

' '  Oh,  my  friends  are  warming  his  feet  for  him. 
We  are  not  fond  of  Greeks,  here  in  the  mountains, 
excellency. ' ' 

Gavin  started  as  the  man  spoke,  for  a  wild  shriek 
broke  upon  his  ears  and  becoming  louder  until  it 
sounded  like  some  supreme  cry  of  human  agony, 
ended  at  last  in  a  fearful  sobbing,  as  it  were  the 
weeping  of  a  child  in  pain.  When  he  dared  to 
look,  he  saw  the  gypsies  had  dragged  the  wretched 
Greek  to  the  camp-fire  and  pouring  oil  from  a 
can  upon  his  bare  feet,  they  thrust  them  into  the 


226         THE    LADY    EVELYN 

flames  and  held  them  there  with  that  utter  indif- 
ference to  human  suffering  which,  above  all 
others,  is  the  characteristic  of  the  people  of  the 
Balkans.  Worming  in  their  embrace,  his  eyes 
starting  from  his  head,  his  voice  paralyzed  by  the 
fearful  cries  he  raised,  the  wretched  man  sud- 
denly fainted  and  lay  inanimate  in  the  flame. 
Then,  and  not  until  then,  they  drew  him  back  and 
left  him  quivering  upon  the  green  grass. 

"  He  was  warned,"  the  gypsy  leader  muttered 
sullenly;  "  he  should  have  known  better." 

But  Arthur,  showing  Gavin  his  bleeding  wrists, 
said  with  a  shrug. 

' '  I  think  very  little  of  wisdom,  Gavin. ' ' 

The  rope  had  cut  the  flesh  almost  to  the  bone 
in  his  efforts  to  go  to  the  help  of  the  wretched 
Greek. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

THE   HOUSE   ABOVE   THE   TOBBENT 

SOME  one  upon  the  outskirts  of  the  wood  whis- 
tled softly  and  the  gypsies  stood  with  ears  intent 
listening,  alarmed,  to  the  signal.  When  it  had 
been  twice  repeated,  they  appeared  to  become 
more  confident,  and,  untethering  their  ponies,  or 
calling,  with  low, whining  voices,  those  that  grazed, 
they  turned  to  their  prisoners  and  bade  them 
prepare  to  march. 

"To  the  Castle  of  Okna,  excellency " 

A  shout  of  laughter  greeted  the  saying,  and 
Gavin,  had  he  been  credulous  until  this  time, 
would  have  remained  credulous  no  more.  A 
philosopher  always,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  pointed  to  the  ropes  which  bound  him. 

"  I  am  no  acrobat,"  he  said;  "  I  cannot  ride 
with  a  rope  about  my  legs." 

"  We  are  about  to  remove  it,  excellency.  Be 
careful  what  you  do — my  men  are  hasty.  If  you 
are  wise,  you  will  be  followed  by  so  many  laugh- 
ing angels.  If,  however,  we  should  find  you  ob- 
stinate, then,  excellency " 

He  touched  tke  handle  of  a  great  knife  at  his 
girdle  significantly,  and  some  of  the  others,  as 
though  understanding  him,  closed  about  the  pony 
significantly  while  Gavin  mounted.  A  similar  at- 


228          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

tention  being  paid  to  Arthur  Kenyon  was  not  re- 
ceived so  kindly;  for  no  sooner  did  they  attempt 
to  lift  him  roughly  to  the  saddle  than  he  turned 
about  and  dealt  the  first  of  them  a  rousing  blow 
which  stretched  the  fellow  full  length  upon  the 
grass  and  left  him  insensible  there.  The  act  was 
within  an  ace  of  costing  him  his  life.  Knives 
sprung  from  sheathes,  antique  pistols  were  flour- 
ished— there  were  cries  and  counter-cries;  and 
then,  as  though  miraculously,  a  louder  voice  from 
some  one  hidden  in  the  wood  commanding  them 
to  silence.  In  that  moment,  the  gypsy  chief  flung 
himself  before  Kenyon  and  protected  him  with 
hands  uplifted  and  curses  on  his  lips. 

"  Dogs  and  carrion — do  you  forget  whom  you 
obey?  "  he  almost  shrieked,  and  then  to  the  Eng- 
lishman, "  You  are  mad,  mein  herr — be  wise  or 
I  will  kill  you." 

Kenyon,  strangely  nonchalant  through  it  all, 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  clambered  upon  the 
back  of  the  pony.  Gavin  turned  deadly  pale  in 
spite  of  himself,  breathed  a  full  breath  again,  and 
desired  nothing  more  of  fate  than  that  they 
should  quit  the  cursed  wood  without  further  loss 
of  time.  As  though  enough  evil  had  not  come  to 
him  there,  he  espied,  as  they  rode  from  the  place, 
the  dead  body  of  his  servant,  the  Turk,  face  down- 
wards with  the  knife  that  killed  him  still  protrud- 
ing from  his  shoulders.  And  he  doubted  if  the 
wretched  Greek,  so  brutally  maimed  in  the  fire, 
still  lived  or  must  be  numbered  a  second  victim 
of  the  night. 

Had  he  been  a  fool  to  leave  England  upon  such 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         229 

an  errand  at  all,  or  did  the  circumstances  of  his 
visit  justify  him?  Of  this  he  did  not  believe  that 
he  was  the  best  judge.  That  which  he  had  done 
had  been  done  for  the  sake  of  one  whose  sweet 
voice  seemed  to  speak  of  courage  even  at  such  an 
hour — Evelyn,  the  woman  who  first  had  taught 
him  what  man's  love  could  be;  whose  fair  image 
went  with  him  as  he  rode,  the  stately  figure  of  his 
dreams,  the  gentle  Evelyn  for  whom  the  supreme 
adoration  and  pity  of  his  life  were  reserved.  If 
ignominy  were  his  ultimate  reward,  he  cared 
nothing — no  danger,  no  peril  of  the  way,  must  be 
set  against  the  happiness,  nay,  the  very  soul's 
salvation,  of  her  who  had  said  to  him,  "  I  love 
you!  " 

This  had  been  the  whole  spirit  of  his  journey, 
and  it  did  not  desert  him  now  when  the  gypsies 
set  out  upon  the  mountain  road  and  he  understood 
that  he  was  a  helpless  hostage  in  their  hands.  As 
for  Arthur  Kenyon,  he,  with  English  stolidity, 
still  chose  to  regard  the  whole  scene  as  a  jest  and  to 
comment  upon  it  from  such  a  standpoint.  To  him 
the  picturesque  environment  of  height  and  valley, 
forests  of  pine  and  sleeping  pastures,  were  less 
than  nothing  at  all.  He  did  not  care  a  blade  of 
grass  for  the  first  roseate  glow  of  dawn  in  the 
Eastern  sky;  for  the  shimmer  of  gold  upon  the 
majestic  landscape,  or  the  jewels  sprayed  by  the 
stream  below  them.  He  had  met  an  adventure 
and  he  gloried  in  it.  Begging  a  cigarette  from  the 
nearest  gypsy,  he  thanked  the  fellow  for  a  light, 
and  so  fell  to  the  thirty  words  of  German  be- 
queathed to  him  by  that  splendid  foundation  of 


230          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

one  William  at  Winchester.  There  were  '  *  haven- 
zie's  "  and  "  Ich  Wimsche's"  enough  to  have 
served  a  threepenny  manual  of  traveller's  talk 
here.  Neither  understood  the  other  and  each  was 
happy. 

"  The  man's  a  born  idiot,"  Arthur  said  to 
Gavin  at  last.  "  I  ask  him  where  the  road  leads 
to  and  he  says  '  half-an-hour. '  " 

' '  Meaning  we  are  half-an-hour  from  our  destin- 
ation. ' ' 

"  Then  why  the  deuce  can't  he  say  so  in  plain 
English?  " 

"  He  might  ask  you  why  the  deuce  you  can't 
ask  him  in  plain  Hungarian. ' ' 

"  That's  so — but  how  these  fellows  don't  break 
their  jaws  over  this  gabble,  I  can't  make  out. 
Well,  I  suppose  we  shall  get  breakfast  somewhere, 
Gavin. ' ' 

11  Are  you  hungry,  Arthur?  " 

' '  Not  much ;  I  'm  thinking  of  that  poor  devil  of 
a  Greek." 

"  Yes,  they  are  brutes  enough.  What  could  we 
do?  " 

"  Oh,  I  knew  that!  What  I  am  hoping  is  that 
they  will  get  it  hot  after  we  have  told  the  tale  at 
Bukharest.  The  authorities " 

' {  Authorities,  in  the  Balkans,  Arthur !  Do  you 
forget  our  escort?  " 

"  Oh,  those  blackguards.    They  ought  to  enter 
for  the  mile  championship  at  the  L.  A.  C.    In  the 
matter  of  running,  they  are  a  glory  to  their  coun- 
try." 
•    "  They  will  tell  some  cock-and-bull  story  and 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          231 

make  it  out  that  we  dismissed  them.  Chesny  told 
me  not  to  put  too  much  reliance  upon  them.  Well, 
they're  no  loss.  We  can  see  it  through  without 
them." 

"  Good  old  pronoun.  Would  you  define  that 
'  it  'for  my  benefit?  " 

"  Oh,  there  I'm  beaten.  We  are  going  up  a 
mountain  and  may  go  down  again.  That's  evi- 
dent. Two  Jacks  and  no  Jills  to  speak  of.  There 's 
a  house  also,  I  perceive — across  the  torrent  yon- 
der. That  must  have  been  built  when  the  witches 
were  young.  The  flat  tiles  speak  of  Julius  Caesar, 
don't  they?  I  wonder  if  they  know  we're  com- 
ing? ' 

* '  We  might  have  cabled  '  coffee  and  the  nearest 
approach  to  cold  grouse. '  Do  you  like  cold  grouse 
for  breakfast,  Gavin?  There's  nothing  to  beat  it 
on  the  list,  to  my  way  of  thinking.  Cold  grouse 
and  nice,  crisp,  hot  toast.  Some  Cambridge 
squash  afterwards,  and  then  a  great  big  round 
pipe.  That's  what  you  think  of  when  you've  been 
ten  hours  in  the  saddle  and  can't  find  an  inn.  I 
wish  I  could  discern  it  now,  as  the  curate  says. ' ' 

Gavin  smiled,  but  his  gaze  was  set  upon  the  an- 
cient ruin  his  quick  eye  had  observed  upon  a 
height  of  the  green  mountain  above  them.  He 
wondered  if  the  path  would  carry  them  by  it,  or 
pierce  the  hills  and  leave  the  castle,  for  such  it 
plainly  had  been,  upon  their  left  hands.  But  for 
the  circumstances  in  which  he  approached  it,  the 
scene  had  been  wild  and  strange  enough  to  have 
awakened  all  an  artist's  dormant  capacities  for 
admiration.  They  were  well  above  the  pine  woods 


232          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

by  this  time  and  could  look  back  upon  a  fertile 
valley,  exquisitely  green,  and  bordered  by  shining 
rivers.  Villages,  churches,  farms  were  so  many 
dolls'  houses  planted  upon  mighty  fields  while 
midget  beasts  awakened  to  the  day.  The  bridle- 
track  itself  wound  about  a  considerable  mountain 
whose  slopes  were  glorious  with  heather  and 
mountain  ash;  there  were  other  peaks  beyond, 
rising  in  a  crescendo  of  grandeur  to  the  distant 
vista  of  the  eternal  snows,  where  the  gods  of  soli- 
tude had  been  enthroned  and  melancholy  uplifted 
an  icy  sceptre. 

Gavin  could  not  but  be  sensible  of  the  majesty 
of  this  scene ;  nor  did  he  find  the  old  castle  out  of 
harmony  with  its  beauties.  The  building,  which 
he  now  perceived  that  they  were  approaching,  had 
been  built  in  a  cleft  of  the  hills,  at  a  point  where 
the  torrent  fell  in  a  thunder  of  silver  spray  to  a 
deep  blue  pool  far  down  in  the  valley  below. 
Clinging,  as  it  were,  to  the  very  face  of  a  pre- 
cipitous cliff,  a  drawbridge  spanned  the  torrent 
and  gave  access  to  the. mountain  road  upon  the 
further  side  of  the  pass;  but  so  narrow  was  the 
river  and  so  perpendicular  the  rocks  that  it 
seemed  as  though  men  might  clasp  hands  across 
the  abyss  or  a  good  horse  take  it  in  the  stride 
of  a  gallop.  For  the  rest,  the  black  frowning 
walls,  the  iron-sheathed  doors,  the  plut-houses,  the 
barbicon,  the  quaint  turrets  thrust  out  here  and 
there  above  the  chasm,  spoke  of  many  centuries 
and  many  arts — here  of  Saracen,  there  of  Turk, 
of  the  reign  of  the  rounded  arch,  and  even  of  glo- 
rious Gothic.  A  building  to  study,  Gavin  said,  to 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          233 

scan  with  well-schooled  eyes  from  some  opposing 
height,  whence  every  phase  of  its  changing  won- 
ders might  be  justly  estimated  by  him  who  would 
learn  and  imitate.  Even  his  own  predicament  was 
forgotten  when  his  guides  stopped  upon  its 
threshold  and  demanded  in  loud  tones  that  the 
drawbridge  should  be  let  down. 

"  This  is  the  place,  by  Mahomet,"  said  Arthur 
dryly  .  .  .  and  he  added,  "  What  a  devil  of  a 
house  for  a  week-end!  ' 

Gavin  bade  him  listen.  A  voice  across  the  chasm 
replied  to  the  gypsy  hail. 

"  Don't  you  recognize  that?  "  he  asked;  "  it's 
the  voice  we  heard  in  the  wood." 

' '  When  this  crowd  desired  to  agitate  my  heirs, 
executors  and  assigns?  You're  right  for  a  ransom. 
I  wonder  if  they'll  introduce  us." 

"  We  shall  soon  know.  Here's  the  bridge  com- 
ing down.  What  have  you  done  with  your  armor, 
Arthur?  " 

"  Left  it  in  the  cab,  perhaps — don't  speak,  that 
ancient  person  yonder  engrosses  me.  I  wonder 
what  Tree  would  pay  for  the  loan  of  his  make-up." 

"  I'll  put  the  question  when  I  return.  This  evi- 
dently is  where  we  get  down.  Well,  I'm  glad  of 
that  anyhow." 

It  was  as  he  said.  The  cavalcade  had  come  to 
its  journey's  end;  and  there,  picturesquely 
grouped  upon  the  narrow  road,  were  men  and 
mules  and  mountain  ponies,  giving  more  than  a 
welcome  splash  of  color  to  the  neighboring  monot- 
ony of  rock  and  shrub,  and  right  glad  all  to  be 
once  more  at  their  ease.  It  now  became  plain  that 


234          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

none  but  the  gypsy  leader  was  to 'enter  the  Castle 
with  the  prisoners ;  and  he,  when  he  had  addressed 
some  loud  words  to  the  others  (for  the  roar  of  the 
torrent  compelled  him  to  shout),  passed  first 
across  the  bridge,  leading  Kenyon's  pony  and  call- 
ing to  the  other  to  follow  him.  Just  a  glance-the  men 
could  turn  upon  raging  waters,  here  of  the  deepest 
blue,  there  a  sour  green,  or  again  but  a  boiling, 
tumbling  mass  of  writhing  foam — just  this  and 
the  vista  of  the  sheer,  cruel  rocks  and  the  infernal 
abyss ;  then  they  passed  over  and  the  bridge  was 
drawn  up  and  they  stood  within  the  courtyard, 
as  securely  caged  as  though  the  oubliettes  pris- 
oned them  and  gyves  of  steel  were  about  their 
wrists. 

"  Excellents,  my  master,  the  Chevalier,  would 
speak  with  you." 

Thus  said  the  guide — and,  as  he  said  it,  Gavin 
understood  that  he  had  come  to  the  house  of  Count 
Odin's  father,  the  man  who  had  loved  Dora 
d'Istran,  and  for  love  of  her  had  paid  nearly 
twenty  years  of  his  precious  liberty. 

"  And  this  is  the  Castle  of  Okna?  "  he  ex- 
claimed. 

The  guide  smiled. 

"  No,  excellency,"  he  said,  "  the  Castle  of  Okna 
lies  many  miles  from  here.  You  must  speak  to 
our  master  of  that.  That  is  his  step-,  excellency !  ' 

They  listened  and  heard  the  tapping  of  a  stick 
upon  a  stone  pavement.  It  approached  them 
laboriously;  and  after  that  which  seemed  an  in- 
terminable interval,  an  old  white-haired  man  ap- 
peared at  one  of  the  doors  of  the  quadrangle  and 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          235 

raising  his  voice  bade  them  welcome.  The  voice 
was  the  one  they  recognized  as  that  of  the  wood; 
but  the  face  of  the  speaker  sent  a  shudder  through 
Gavin 's  veins  which  left  him  unashamed. 

"  Blind,"  he  muttered,  amazed — "  the  man  is 
blind." 


CHAPTER   XXVI 


THE  blind  man  felt  Ms  way  down  a  short  flight 
of  stairs,  and,  standing  before  the  prisoners,  he 
said  in  a  voice  indescribably  harsh  and  grat- 
ing: 

11  Gentlemen,  welcome  to  Setchevo,"  and  so  he 
told  them  the  name  of  the  place  to  which  their 
journey  had  carried  them. 

A  man  of  middle  stature,  slightly  bent,  his  face 
pitted  and  scarred  revoltingly,  his  fine  white  hair 
combed  down  with  scrupulous  vanity  upon  his 
shoulders,  the  eyes,  nevertheless,  remained  su- 
preme in  their  power  to  repel  and  to  dominate. 
Sightless,  they  seemed  to  search  the  very  heart 
of  him  who  braved  them.  Look  where  they  might, 
the  Englishmen's  gaze  came  back  at  last  to  those 
unforgettable  eyes.  The  horror  of  them  was  in- 
describable. 

"  Welcome  to  Setchevo,  gentlemen.  I  am  the 
Chevalier  Georges  Odin.  Yes,  I  have  heard  of 
you  and  am  glad  to  see  you.  Please  to  say  which 
of  you  is  Mr.  Gavin  Ord. ' ' 

Gavin  stepped  forward  and  answered  in  a  loud, 
courageous  voice,  "  I  am  he."  The  blind  man, 
passing  trembling  claws  over  the  hands  and  faces 
of  the  two,  smiled  when  he  heard  the  voice  and 
drew  still  nearer  to  them. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          237 

' '  You  came  from  England  to  see  me, ' '  he  said ; 
"  you  bring  me  news  from  my  son  and  his  English 
wife. ' ' 

This  was  a  thing  to  startle  them.  Did  he,  then, 
believe  that  Count  Odin,  his  son,  had  already  mar- 
ried the  Lady  Evelyn,  or  was  it  but  a  coup  de 
theatre  to  invite  them  to  an  indiscretion.  Gavin, 
shrewd  and  watchful,  decided  in  an  instant  upon 
the  course  he  would  take. 

"  I  bring  no  message  from  your  son;  nor  has 
he,  to  my  knowledge,  an  English  wife.  Permit 
me  an  interview  where  we  can  be  alone  and  I  will 
state  my  business  freely.  Your  method  of  bring- 
ing us  here,  Chevalier,  may  be  characteristic  of 
the  Balkans;  but  I  do  not  think  it  will  be  under- 
stood by  my  English  friends  in  Bukharest.  You 
will  be  wise  to  remember  that  at  the  outset." 

Here  was  a  threat  and  a  wise  threat;  but  the 
old  man  heard  it  with  disdain,  his  tongue  licking 
his  lips  and  a  smile,  vicious  and  cruel,  upon  his 
scarred  face. 

11  My  friend,"  he  said,  "  at  the  donjon  of  Set- 
chevo  we  think  nothing  of  English  opinion  at  Buk- 
harest, as  you  will  learn  in  good  time.  I  thank 
you,  however,  for  reminding  me  that  you  are  my 
guests  and  fasting.  Be  good  enough  to  follow  me. 
The  English,  I  remember,  are  eaters  of  flesh  at 
dawn,  being  thus  but  one  step  removed  from  the 
cannibals.  This  house  shall  gratify  you — please 
to  follow  me,  I  say. ' ' 

Laboriously  as  he  had  descended  the  stairs,  he 
climbed  them  again,  the  baffling  smile  still  upon 
his  face  and  the  stick  tapping  weirdly  upon  the 


238         THE    LADY    EVELYN 

broken  stone.  The  house  within  did  not  belie  the 
house  as  it  appeared  from  without.  Arched  cor- 
ridors, cracked  groins,  moulded  frescoes,  great 
bare  apartments  with  dismal  furniture  of  brown 
oak,  the  whole  building  breathed  a  breath  both 
chilling  and  pestilential.  If  there  were  a  redeem- 
ing feature,  Gavin  found  it  in  the  so-called  Ban- 
queting Hall,  a  fine  room  gracefully  panelled  with 
a  barrel  vault  and  some  antique  mouldings  orig- 
inal enough  to  awaken  an  artist's  curiosity.  The 
great  buffet  of  this  boasted  plate  was  of  consider- 
able value  and  no  little  merit  of  design ;  and  such 
a  breakfast  as  the  Chevalier's  servants  had  pre- 
pared was  served  upon  a  mighty  oak  table  which 
had  been  a  table  when  the  second  Mohammed 
ravaged  Bosnia. 

The  men  were  hungry  enough  and  they  ate  and 
drank  with  good  appetite.  Perhaps  it  was  with 
some  relief  that  they  discovered  a  greater  leniency 
within  the  house  than  they  had  found  without. 
Discomfort  is  often  the  ally  of  fear ;  and  whatever 
were  the  demerits  of  the  House  at  Setchevo,  the 
discomforts  were  relatively  trifling.  As  for  the 
old  blind  Chevalier,  he  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table 
just  as  though  he  had  eyes  to  watch  their  every 
movement  and  to  judge  them  thereby.  Not  until 
they  had  .made  a  good  meal  of  delicious  coffee  and 
fine  white  bread,  with  eggs  and  a  dish  of  Kolesha 
in  a  stiff  square  lump  from  the  pan — not  until 
then  did  he  intrude  with  a  word,  or  appear  in  any 
way  anxious  to  question  them. 

"  You  pay  a  tribute  to  our  mountain  air,"  he 
exclaimed  at  last,  speaking  a  little  to  their  aston- 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          239 

ishment  in  their  own  tongue;  "  that  is  your  Eng- 
lish virtue,  you  can  eat  at  any  time." 

"  And  some  of  us  are  equally  useful  in  the 
matter  of  drinking,"  rejoined  Arthur  Kenyon, 
who  had  begun  to  enjoy  himself  again,  and  was 
delighted  to  hear  the  English  language. 

The  Chevalier,  however,  believed  this  to  be 
some  reflection  upon  his  hospitality,  and  he  said 
at  once: 

11  I  compliment  you  upon  your  frankness,  mein 
herr — my  servants  shall  bring  wine. ' ' 

"  Oh,  indeed,  no,  I  referred  to  a  very  bad 
habit, ' '  exclaimed  Kenyon  quickly  and  then  rising, 
he  added, ' '  With  your  permission,  sir,  I  will  leave 
you  with  my  friend.  I  am  sure  you  have  both 
much  to  say  to  each  other. ' ' 

He  did  not  wait  for  a  reply  but  strolled  off  to 
the  other  end  of  the  hall  and  thence  out  to  the 
courtyard,  no  man  saying  him  nay.  Alone  to- 
gether, the  Chevalier  and  Gavin  sat  a  few  mo- 
ments in  awkward  silence,  each  debating  the 
phrase  with  which  he  should  open  the  argument. 
Meanwhile,  a  Turkish  servant  brought  cigarettes, 
and  the  old  man  lighted  one  but  immediately  cast 
it  from  him. 

"  The  blind  cannot  smoke,"  he  said  irritably; 
"  that  is  one  of  the  compensations  of  life  which 
imagination  cannot  give  us.  Well,  I  am  too  old 
to  complain — my  world  lies  within  these  walls.  It 
is  wide  enough  for  me." 

* '  I  am  indeed  sorry, ' '  said  Gavin,  for  suffering 
could  always  arouse  his  sympathies  wherever  he 
found  it.  "  Is  there  no  hope  at  all  of  any  relief?  ' 


240         THE    LADY    EVELYN 

"  None  whatever.  The  nerves  have  perished. 
So  much  I  owe  to  my  English  f riendship: — the  last 
gift  it  bestowed  upon  me.  Shall  I  tell  you  by 
what  means  I  became  blind,  mein  herrf  Go  down 
to  the  salt  mines  at  Okna  and  when  they  blast  the 
rock  there,  you  will  say,  '  Georges  Odin,  the  Eng- 
lishman's friend,  lost  his  eyesight  in  that  mine.' 
It  is  true  before  God.  And  the  man  who  put  this 
calamity  upon  me — what  of  him?  A  rich  man, 
mein  herr,  honored  by  the  world,  a  great  noble  in 
his  own  country,  a  leader  of  the  people,  the  pos- 
sessor of  much  land  and  many  houses.  He  sent 
me  to  Okna.  We  were  boys  together  on  the  hills. 
If  he  shamed  me  in  the  race  for  all  that  young 
men  seek  of  life,  I  suffered  it  because  of  my  friend- 
ship. Then  the  night  fell  upon  me — you  know  the 
story.  He  took  from  me  the  woman  I  loved.  We 
met  as  men  of  honor  should.  I  avenged  the  wrong 
— my  God,  what  a  vengeance  with  the  Eussian 
hounds  upon  my  track  and  the  fortress  prison 
already  garnished  for  me!  Mein  herr,  you  knew 
of  this  story  or  you  would  not  have  come  to  my 
house.  Tell  me  what  I  shall  add  to  it,  for  I  listen 
patiently." 

He  was  a  fine  old  actor  and  the  melodramatic 
gesture  with  which  he  accompanied  the  recital 
would  have  made  a  deep  impression  upon  one  less 
given  to  cool  analysis  and  reticent  common  sense 
than  Gavin  Ord.  Gavin,  indeed,  had  thought  upon 
this  strange  history  almost  night  and  day  since 
Lord  Melbourne  had  first  related  it.  If  he  had 
come  to  have  a  settled  opinion  upon  it  all,  nothing 
that  had  yet  transpired  upon  his  journey  from 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         24i. 

England  altered  that  opinion  or  even  modified  it. 
This  blind  man  he  believed  to  have  been  the  victim 
of  the  Russian  Government.  Lord  Melbourne  had 
acted  treacherously  in  making  no  attempt  to  re- 
lease his  old  rival  from  the  mines;  but  had  he 
so  attempted,  his  efforts  must  have  been  futile — 
for  the  Russians  believed  that  Georges  Odin  was 
their  most  relentless  enemy  and  had  pursued  him 
with  bitter  and  lasting  animosity.  So  the  affair 
stood  in  Gavin's  mind — nor  was  he  influenced  in 
any  way  by  the  forensic  appeal  now  addressed 
to  him. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  slowly,  "  I  know  your  story, 
Chevalier,  and  I  am  here  because  of  it.  Let  me 
say  in  a  word  that  I  come  because  Lord  Melbourne 
is  anxious  and  ready,  in  so  far  as  it  is  possible  to 
do  so,  to  atone  for  any  wrong  he  may  have  done 
you.  He  desires  nothing  so  much  as  that  you  two, 
who  were  friends  in  boyhood,  should  be  reconciled 
now  when  years  must  be  remembered  and  the  acci- 
dents of  life  be  provided  for.  So  he  sends  me  to 
Bukharest  to  invite  you  to  England,  there  to  hear 
him  for  himself  and  to  tell  him  how  best  he  may 
serve  you.  I  can  add  nothing  to  that  invitation 
save  my  own  belief  in  his  honesty,  and  in  the 
reality  of  those  motives  which  now  actuate  him. 
If  you  decide  to  accompany  me  to  England " 

An  exclamation  which  was  half  an  oath  arrested 
him  suddenly  and  he  became  aware  that  he  was 
no  longer  heard  patiently.  In  truth,  the  native 
temper  of  his  race  mastered  Georges  Odin  in  that 
moment  and  left  him  with  no  remembrance  but 
that  of  the  wretchedness  of  his  own  life  and  the 


242          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

depth  of  the  passions  which  had  contributed  to  it. 

"  Money!  "  he  cried  angrily,  "  this  man  offers 
me  money !  ' 

"  Indeed,  no — he  offers  you  friendship." 

* '  Tell  me  the  truth !  He  is  afraid  of  me.  Yes, 
there  was  always  a  coward's  cloak  ready  for  him. 
He  knew  it  and  played  his  part  in  spite  of  it.  He 
is  afraid  of  me  and  sends  you  here  to  say  so.  My 
friend,  that  man  shall  yet  fall  on  his  knees  before 
me.  He  shall  beg  mercy,  not  for  himself  but  for 
another.  When  his  daughter — God  be  thanked  he 
has  a  daughter — when  his  daughter  is  my  daugh- 
ter— ha!  we  can  reach  many  hearts  through  the 
hearts  of  the  women  they  love.  As  he  did  to  me, 
so  will  I  do  to  this  English  girl  he  dotes  upon. 
When  she  is  my  son's  wife!  ' 

His  laugh  had  a  horrid  ring  in  it — broken, 
.stunted  teeth  protruded  from  his  hanging  lips, 
his  hands  trembled  upon  the  stick  he  carried. 
11  When  she  is  my  son's  wife!  '  He  seemed  to 
moisten  the  very  words  with  a  tongue  lustful  for 
vengeance.  And  Gavin  heard  him  with  a  repul- 
sion beyond  all  experience,  a  horror  that  made 
him  dread  the  very  touch  of  such  a  man's  fingers. 

"  Chevalier,"  he  said  at  length,  "  the  Lady 
Evelyn  will  never  be  your  son 's  wife. ' ' 

"  Ha,  a  prophet?  Tell  me  that  you  are  her 
chosen  husband,  and  I  will  ask  you  no  second 
question. ' ' 

' '  I  am  her  chosen  husband  and  I  return  to  Eng- 
land to  marry  her." 

' '  You  return !  Mein  herr,  am  I  a  madman  that 
I  should  open  my  gates  to  one  who  does  not  even 


As  you   came   in    folly,   so   shall   you   go  —  when   the    English 
woman  is  in  my  son's  arms."     Chap.  26. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         243 

know  how  to  hold  his  tongue?  Shall  I  send  you 
back  to  rob  nay  son  of  the  rewards  of  his  fidelity? 
Eeturn  you  shall — when  she  is  his  wife.  Until 
that  time,  mein  herr,  consider  yourself  my  guest. ' ' 

He  rose  defiantly,  brandishing  his  stick. 

"  Fool,"  he  cried;  "  fool  to  dare  the  mountains 
which  Zallony  rules.  As  you  came  in  folly,  so 
shall  you  go — when  the  Englishwoman  is  in  my 
son's  arms." 

He  turned,  a  laugh  which  was  almost  a  cry  upon 
his  lips,  and  tapped  his  way  from  the  apartment. 
Gavin  could  hear  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  long 
afterwards,  passing  from  corridor  to  corridor  of 
the  great  bare  house ;  but  the  words  he  had  spoken 
lingered  and  were  echoed,  as  though  by  a  spirit  of 
vengeance  moving  in  the  room. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

ETTA  ROMNEY'S  RETURN 

IT  would  have  been  about  half-past  one  upon  the 
afternoon  of  a  gloomy  November  day,  some  three 
months  after  Gavin  Ord  set  out  for  Roumania, 
that  a  hansom  cab  was  driven  up  to  the  stage- 
door  of  the  Carlton  Theatre,  the  Lady  Evelyn, 
wearing  heavy  black  furs  and  a  motor  veil,  which 
entirely  hid  her  face  from  the  passers-by,  alighted 
timidly  and  offered  the  cabman  a  generous  fare. 
Deaf  to  the  man's  effusive  assurance  that  he  had 
no  other  ambition  in  life  but  to  drive  the  same 
fare  back  to  the  place  whence  she  came,  Evelyn 
entered  the  narrow  alley  wherein  the  stage-door  is 
situated  and  at  once  asked  the  stage-door  keeper 
if  Mr.  Charles  Izard  was  or  was  not  within  the 
house?  The  simple  question  provoked  an  answer 
that  might  have  satisfied  a  diplomatist  but  helped 
Evelyn  not  at  all. 

"  Maybe  he  is,  maybe  he  ain't.  It  depends  on 
who  wants  him.  Now,  you  take  a  word  from  me, 
miss.  Say  to  yourself,  Shall  I  go  and  have  dinner 
with  the  Prince  of  "Wales  this  afternoon  or  shall 
I  not?  That'll  answer  you  and  leave  old  Jacob 
Briggs  to  finish  his  pipe  in  peace,  he  being  the 
father  of  widows,  likewise  of  orphans." 

Jacob,  it  was  plain,  had  but  just  lunched  and 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         245 

was  more  affable  than  upon  any  less  benign  occa- 
sion. He  sat  with  his  back  to  a  bill  which  an- 
nounced the  concluding  nights  of  that  dismal  play 
"  Oliver  Cromwell — a  comedy,  by  Rowland 
Wales,"  and  he  smoked  a  pipe  with  that  which 
the  ancient  Weller  would  have  called  an  "  un- 
common power  of  suction."  Here,  said  he,  is  an- 
other of  'em,  meaning  thereby  another  candidate 
for  histrionic  honors  which  twenty-five  shillings  a 
week  should  reward.  Jacob  knew  how  to  deal 
.with  them;  "•  but,"  said  he,  "  when  I've  got  my 
dinner  in  me  then  I'm  a  blessed  lamb."  So  he 
addressed  Evelyn  "  humorous-like  "  and  did  not 
lose  his  patience  even  when  she  would  not  go 
away. 

"  I  must  see  Mr.  Izard  to-day.  I  am  sure  he 
will  wish  to  see  me.  If  you  would  take  my  name 
into  the  theatre " 

Jacob  Briggs,  pulling  the  pipe  to  the  right  side 
of  his  mouth,  ate  a  smile  as  though  it  were  good 
butter. 

"  Perhaps  he  was  agoing  to  send  a  carriage 
and  pair  for  yer,  miss,  or  a  motor  kar.  That's 
wot  he  does  ordinary  to  such  young  ladies  as  you. 
Now,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  don't  think  as 
you  can  play  Miss  Fay's  part  better 'n  she  herself. 
I've  seed  a  many  and  most  of  'em  do.  But,  lord, 
I'm  too  good-natured  to  take  much  notice  on  it. 
Tryin's  tryin',  says  I,  and  if  you  ask  for  a  sufferin 
(sovereign),  who  knows  as  you  mayn't  get  a  shil- 
ling. Wot  you've  got  to  do,  miss,  is  to  go  round 
to  the  horfiss.  They'll  soon  turn  you  out  of  that, 
and  better  for  you  in  the  long  run " 


246         THE    LADY    EVELYN 

"  And  yet  you  used  not  to  think  so  when  I  was 
playing  Di  Vernon,  Mr.  Briggs. ' ' 

The  smile  left  Jacob's  face  as  though  some  one 
had  hit  him.  He  slipped  down  the  board  until 
he  came  near  to  sitting  on  the  pavement.  Speech 
did  not  immediately  assist  him,  and  he  could 
mutter  nothing  else  but  the  mystic  and  entirely 
irrelevant  phrase,  ' '  D — n  my  uncle !  ' '  which  he 
continued  to  repeat  until  he  had  scrambled  to  his 
feet  and  doffed  his  carpenter's  cap. 

"  Good  Lord,  Miss  Eomney,  if  you'd  have  said 
so,  why,  I'd  have  pulled  the  theatre  down  for  ye, 
and  willing.  Mr.  Izard  now — he  won't  be  glad 
neither.  '  Briggs,'  says  he  to  me,  '  she'll  come 
back  some  day  just  as  sure  as  Mrs.  Briggs  ' — but 
that's  neither  here  nor  there,  miss.  He's  over 
at  the  tavern  now  and  Mr.  Lacombe  with  him. 
Let  me  say  the  word  and  he'll  come  back  in  a 
fire-engine ' ' 

Evelyn  protested  that  she  did  not  desire  the 
word  to  be  said ;  but  would  wait  in  the  auditorium 
and  announce  herself  to  the  great  man.  Under- 
standing that  the  ' '  tavern ' '  really  meant  the  Carl- 
ton  Hotel  and  that  there  was  a  rehearsal  of  a  new 
and  modern  play  at  two  o'clock,  she  entered  the 
theatre  and  sat,  her  veil  undrawn,  in  the  wings, 
whereby  from  time  to  time  the  acquaintances  of 
old  time  must  pass  her.  So  dark  was  it  that  she 
feared  no  recognition.  Those  who  came  in  and 
out,  pinched  girls  who  had  lunched  off  a  sponge- 
cake and  a  cup  of  cocoa ;  heavy-jowled  men  whose 
mid-day  refreshment  had  been  distilled  from  juni- 
per ;  sleek  youths  with  a  new  rendering  of  Hamlet 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         247 

in  their  pockets — the  success,  the  fortunes,  the 
hopes,  the  disappointments  of  each  chained  his 
tongue  and  directed  his  eyes  to  that  man  or 
woman  alone  who  had  the  patience  and  the  good- 
nature to  hear  a  recital  of  them.  None  paid  at- 
tention to  Evelyn,  or  as  much  as  remarked  her 
presence  in  the  sombre  light.  Even  little  Dulcie 
Holmes  passed  her  by  unnoticed;  and  as  for  the- 
melancholy  Lucy  Grey,  she  was  too  full  of  her 
own  troubles  so  much  as  to  think  of  anyone  else's. 
' '  I  wish  I  were  dead, ' '  she  had  just  said  to  Dulcie 
—and  this  was  as  much  as  to  say, '  *  I  have  no  part 
in  the  new  play,  and  God  knows  how  I  shall  pay 
for  my  lodging. ' ' 

Evelyn  had  a  little  difficulty  in  restrainingjier- 
self  from  declaring  her  identity  to  the  girls ;  but 
an  incurable  love  of  dramatic  effect  came  to  her 
aid  and,  perhaps,  the  vain  desire  to  be  discovered 
more  worthily  by  that  great  man,  Mr.  Charles 
Izard.  Aware  that  she  was  waiting  there  as  the 
humblest  suppliant  for  the  theatre's  favors,  she 
perceived  presently  that  the  iron  door  between 
stage  and  auditorium  stood  open;  and,  slip- 
ping through,  she  entered  a  stage-box  and  there 
waited  in  better  security.  One  by  one  now  the 
"  stars  "  entered  the  theatre  and  took  up  their 
positions  upon  the  dimly-lighted  stage.  A  chatter 
of  conversation  arose,  amidst  which  the  stage- 
manager's  voice  could  be  heard  in  heated 
argument  with  a  lady  whose  part  had  been 
cut.  All  waited  for  the  great  man;  and 
when  he  appeared  a  hush  fell  as  though* 
upon  a  transformation  scene  in  a  country  panto- 


248          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

mime.  Lo,  lie  had  come — fresh  from  a  long  cigar 
and  a  bottle  of  what  he  called  '  *  noots  ' ' — meaning 
the  excellent  wine  of  Burgundy  known  as  Nints. 
What  bustle,  what  activity  upon  the  part  of  the 
underlings  now !  How  busy  the  principals  appear 
to  be!  How  white  in  the  gloom  are  the  faces  of 
the  girls,  who  lately  spoke  of  fortune  and  furs 
and  a  furore  of  applause ! 

The  new  play  was  also  a  new  entertainment. 
It  appeared  to  Evelyn  to  be  a  hash-up  of  drama 
and  ballet,  with  a  comedy  scene  in  each  act,  intro- 
duced for  the  sole  purpose  of  exploiting  a  lady 
who  could  imitate  wild  animals.  That  it  might 
succeed  in  an  age  which  has  almost  forgotten  the 
bombastics  of  the  ancient  drama,  and  cares  not  a 
straw  what  an  entertainment  may  be  called  so 
long  as  it  is  amusing  and  provokes  a  rhythmical 
nodding  of  heads,  was  very  probable.  Mr.  Izard, 
at  least,  had  few  doubts  about  the  success  of  it; 
and  yet  he  could  have  wished  it  otherwise.  ' '  They 
ask  me  to  elevate  the  people,"  he  would  remark 
in  confidential  moments — "  why,  sir,  the  people 
that  want  elevating  had  better  go  up  in  elevators. 
I'm  here  to  run  a  theatre,  not  a  Tower  of  Babel, 
and  that's  so.  Just  walk  round  to  some  of  these 
fine-mouthed  folk  and  ask  them  what  they  will 
pay  down  in  dollars  for  the  good  of  humanity  and 
the  British  stage.  If  you  can  buy  a  ten-cent 
collar  with  the  proceeds  of  that  hat-box,  I'll  set 
a  stone  up  to  your  memory.  No,  sir,  the  world's 
too  tired  to  think.  Give  'em  a  great  actress  and 
they  don't  have  to  think.  That's  what  I'm  look- 
ing for,  like  a  man  who's  dropped  a  thousand- 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         249 

dollar  scarf-pin  on  the  beach  at  Atlantic  City. 
Since  Etta  Romney  walked  out — but  what's  the 
good  of  talking  about  that !  When  she  comes  back 
I'll  begin  to  think  about  the  people's  good  health 
again.  Sir,  she  made  the  rest  of  them  look  like 
thirty  cents,  and  that's  gospel  truth." 

The  confession  would  end  with  a  sigh  and  a  new 
application  to  the  business  of  tragic-burlesque- 
comedy.  Smarting  from  the  pink  lash  of  a  half- 
penny evening  paper,  which  had,  in  a  leading 
article  that  afternoon,  cast  italicized  reflections 
upon  "  the  porcine  Paladius  of  the  people's  pal- 
aces," the  great  man  was  in  no  very  pleasant 
mood;  and  this  he  made  manifest  directly  re- 
hearsal began.  Scarcely  a  dozen  lines  had  been 
repeated  before  the  leading  lady  was  in  tears 
and  the  old  stock  actor  sulking  at  a  public-house 
round  the  corner.  Ladies  at  twenty-three  shillings 
a  week  heard  themselves  addressed  in  terms 
which  implied  their  fitness  for  the  position  of 
dummies  in  a  side-show.  The  stage-manager 
would  infallibly  have  been  visited  with  blindness 
if  the  great  man's  appeals  to  unknown  powers 
had  been  heard.  When  calm  fell,  Izard  settled 
himself  frettingly  in  a  stall  and  there  simmered 
a  long  while  in  silence.  Not  for  half  an  hour  did 
an  exclamation  escape  him,  and  then  it  came  al- 
most involuntarily.  He  seemed  to  be  waging  a 
battle  between  his  contempt  for  the  leading  lady 
and  his  fear  that  she  would  walk  out  of  the  house ; 
and  the  latter  being  worsted,  he  cried  aloud,  al- 
most like  one  in  despair : 


250          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

"  Etta  Romney — Etta  Romney — what,  in  God's 
name,  keeps  you  out  of  my  theatre !  ' ' 

A  dead  silence  fell.  Everyone  was  awed  by  the 
real  pathos  of  this  regret,  drawn  from  a  man  who 
had  never  been  the  servant  of  a  sentiment.  And 
when  a  musical  voice  answered  him  from  the 
stage-box,  opposite  prompt,  then,  indeed,  did 
Charles  Izard  come  as  near  to  collapsing  as  ever 
he  had  done  in  his  unemotional  life. 

'  *  Nothing  keeps  me,  Mr.  Izard.    I  am  here. ' ' 

' '  Etta  Romney,  by  God !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  in 
the  same  breath  he  told  them  that  the  rehearsal 
was  over. 


CHAPTER   XXVIH 

THE  IMPRESARIO'S  PRAYER 

i 

So  the  Lady  Evelyn  had  become  Etta  Bomney 
once  more,  the  child  of  the  theatre,  the  daughter 
of  a  mystery  which  London  was  upon  the  eve  of 
solving.  The  events  which  brought  her  to  this 
resolution  are  briefly  outlined  in  a  letter  which 
she  wrote  to  her  father  upon  the  morning  after 
her  interview  with  the  great  Charles  Izard  at  the 
Carlton  Theatre.  No  longer  ashamed  of  her  reso- 
lution, she  took  up  her  residence  boldly  at  the 
Savoy  Hotel  and  entered  her  own  name  in  the 
visitors'  book,  afraid  of  none. 

SAVOY  HOTEL, 

Thursday- 
lily  dear  Father: 

I  am  here  in  London,  according  to  my  determination 
already  announced  to  you.  I  shall  live  a  little  while  at 
this  hotel,  and  afterwards  where  my  profession  may  make 
it  necessary.  Believe  me,  my  dear  father,  that  this  life 
alone  is  best  for  me,  and  best  for  you  at  this  moment.  I. 
could  live  no  longer  in  a  house  where,  rightly  or  wrongly, 
I  have  always  felt  a  stranger — and  my  love  for  Gavin  for- 
bids me  to  hear  those  things  which  I  must  hear  every  day 
in  my  old  home.  Now  that  I  am  mistress  of  my  own 
actions,  you  will  be  able  to  find  an  answer  in  my  indepen- 
dence to  those  who  are  not  to  be  answered  in  any  other 
way.  Should  Count  Odin  follow  me  to  London,  he  will 
learn  that  I  am  neither  without  friends  nor  resources;- 


252          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

and  I  shall  not  hesitate  to  call  upon  both  for  my  protec- 
tion. It  is  my  intention  to  establish  myself  here  until 
such  time  as  news  of  Gavin's  welfare  may  come  to  me  or 
that  I  may,  myself,  go  to  seek  it.  That  he  has  been  the 
victim  of  foul  play  I  am  sure ;  and  I  will  not  rest  until 
the  truth  is  known.  Dear  father,  if  you  must  suffer  be- 
cause of  me,  forgive  and  forget,  and  be  sure  always  of  my 
love  for  you  and  my  desire  for  your  happiness.  We  are 
outcasts  of  fortune  both,  and  while  the  world  is  enjoying 
our  position,  we  know  that  it  is  false,  that  we  are  but  in- 
truders by  accident,  and  that  our  past  is  rising  up  every 
day  to  laugh  our  ambitions  to  scorn.  Happier  far  when 
we  were  wanderers  and  poor,  with  days  of  love  and  hope 
to  live  and  no  debt  to  pay  to  a  great  and  insupportable 
heritage.  Dear  father,  you  will  next  hear  of  me  as  Etta 
Bomney,  the  actress — but  never  forget  that  Evelyn  will 
return  to  you  if  you  have  need  of  her  ;  and  that  her  love 
for  you  is  imperishable.  Willingly  would  she  take  your 
burdens  upon  her  own  shoulders,  and  give  you  those 
years  of  rest  and  peace  which  are  your  heart's  desire. 
But,  for  the  time  being,  she  must  live  alone  for  the  sake 
of  the  man  who  has  befriended  her  and  to  whom  she  has 
given  her  love. 

Dearest  Father, 

Your  loving  EVELYN  always. 

From  which  it  is  clear  that  the  month  of  No- 
vember found  Gavin  Ord  still  in  Eoumania  and 
.Count  Odin  again  in  Derbyshire.  The  latter  had 
returned  from  Bukharest  early  in  the  month  of 
September,  and,  dismissing  his  friends,  the  gyp- 
sies, had  settled  down  at  Melbourne  Hall  as  one 
who,  at  no  distant  date,  would  be  its  master.  That 
the  Earl  acquiesced  in  this  assurance  convinced 
Evelyn  finally  that  she  did  not  possess  the  whole 
of  her  father's  story.  Either  he  was  a  coward 
(and  this  she  would  never  believe),  or  some  mys- 
tery of  her  own  past  or  his  abetted  the  Count's 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         253 

pretensions.  No  other  explanation  of  the  matter 
was  possible;  nor  could  she  foresee  a  day  which 
would  rid  her  of  the  presence  of  a  man  who  ever 
spoke  to  her  of  the  heritage  her  mother's  country 
had  bequeathed  to  her  and  its  penalties. 

She  had  always  feared  Count  Odin,  and  she 
feared  him  now  when  the  true  meaning  of  a  man's 
love  had  been  made  known  to  her  and  her  daily 
prayer  was  for  Gavin's  safety.  Not  that  she 
doubted  herself  or  the  truth  of  her  love,  but  that 
she  feared  that  something  in  her  blood  which 
might  bring  her  to  the  Count 's  arms  and  mock  for 
all  time  her  faith  in  her  own  womanhood  and  her 
spoken  word  that  she  would  be  Gavin's  wife  upon 
his  return.  So  greatly  did  this  fear  haunt  her 
that  the  days  of  waiting  became  almost  insupport- 
able. She  would  rise  with  the  sun  each  morning 
and  say,  "  to-day  his  letter  will  come."  The 
nights  found  her  brooding  and  restless  and  fight- 
ing ever  against  the  insidious  advances  of  a  man 
who  made  love  to  her  with  a  Southern  tongue — and 
when  he  was  repulsed  had  no  shame  to  threaten 
her. 

"  Your  English  friend  was  a  fool  to  go  to  the 
mountains,"  he  would  say;  "  we  cannot  protect 
him  there — my  Government  is  helpless.  The 
prison  in  which  my  father  lies,  sent  there  by  the 
man  who  should  have  been  his  friend,  will  not 
open  to  an  Englishman's  knock.  If  I  could  have 
helped  your  friend,  I  would  have  done  so  because 
he  was  your  friend.  You  say  that  he  loves  you. 
I  will  believe  it  when  the  sun  shines  in  England. 
My  dear  lady,  your  heart  is  in  the  South  with  the 


254         THE    LADY    EVELYN 

vine  and  the  pomegranates.  All  your  life  has  not 
made  an  Englishwoman  of  you.  You  are  like  a 
flower  that  cries  for  the  sun  all  day  and  withers 
because  there  is  no  sun.  I  will  take  you  to  a  land 
of  roses  and  set  your  feet  upon  golden  sands.  We 
will  visit  the  East  together — the  color,  the  life, 
the  music  of  it,  shall  enthrall  us.  There  they  will 
teach  you  how  to  love.  In  England  your  hearts 
are  ice — but  you  have  not  an  English  heart. ' ' 

Day  by  day  these  vehement  protests  would  be 
made ;  day  by  day  he  whispered  them  in  her  ear, 
following  her  at  home  and  abroad,  in  the  galleries 
of  Melbourne  Hall,  and  to  the  glades  and  the 
thickets  of  the  park.  And  her  father  abetted  him, 
not  openly  by  word  but  silently  by  impotent  con- 
sent he  acquiesced  in  her  persecution,  protesting 
that  Georges  Odin's  son  had  a  claim  of  hospitality 
upon  him,  and  that  he  could  not  shut  the  gates  of 
the  house  in  his  face.  In  plain  truth,  Eobert  For- 
rester sinned  not  of  his  will  but  of  despair.  He 
did  not  dare  to  tell  Evelyn  that,  by  the  English 
law,  Dora  d'Istran  might  not  be  recognized  as  his 
wife  at  all  and  that  she,  his  daughter,  had  there- 
fore but  a  dubious  claim  to  that  dignity  which  the 
accidents  of  fortune  had  thrust  upon  him.  He 
loved  her,  understood  every  whim  of  that  strange, 
romantic  mind,  and  believed,  it  may  be,  that  the 
young  Count  would  not  be  an  unworthy  husband 
for  her.  But  the  fear  that  she  would  charge  him 
with  the  shame  prevailed  above  other  thoughts. 
He  would  not  that  she  should  pay  the  price  for  the 
follies  and  the  amours  of  his  youth. 

And  what  of  Evelyn  herself,  meanwhile?    She 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         255 

was  as  one  to  whom  the  heaven  of  life  has  been 
suddenly  revealed  after  long  years  of  darkness 
and  doubt.     If  she  understood  the  meaning  of 
womanhood,  that  of  manhood  was  not  hidden  from 
her.    In  Gavin  Ord  she  had,  for  the  first  time,  met 
and  known  intimately  an  Englishman ;  understood 
the  nobility  of  man,  the  resolution,  the  courage 
of  those  reticent  personalities  by  which  the  nation 
has  been  made  great  and  its  children  sent  out  to 
rule  the  new  countries  of  the  world.     Such  a 
knowledge  uplifted  her  and  revealed  truths  which 
had  been  hidden  during  her  childhood.  By  Gavin 's 
love  would  her  soul  be  re-born;  by  faith  in  him 
would  the  victory  over  her  heritage  be  won.    This 
had  become  her  credo,  sustaining  her  in  the  con- 
flict, and  sending  her  to  London  with  a  brave  heart 
and  an  unconquerable  determination  to  win  inde- 
pendence and  freedom.     More  than  this,  she  be- 
lieved that  the  great  city  would  give  her  friends ; 
and  that  these  friends  would  tell  her  how  to  find 
Gavin,  and,  if  need  be,  to  save  him.    No  longer 
could  she  hide  it  from  herself  that  something  be- 
yond the  quest  for  Georges  Odin  kept  her  English 
friend  in  Roumania.     She  had  received  but  two 
letters  from  him,  and  these  had  been  written  dur- 
ing the  early  days  of  his  journey.    The  rest  was 
silence  and  a  dreadful  doubt  creeping  upon  her  as 
a  shadow;  the  doubt  which  said,  "  he  may  have 
given  his  life  for  you ;  he  may  never  return. ' ' 

We  have  said  that  Evelyn  took  up  her  residence 
at  the  Savoy  Hotel,  fearing  no  longer  the  dis- 
closure of  her  identity.  Thither  upon  the  second 
morning  came  little  Dulcie  Holmes  and  the  melan- 


THE    LADY    EVELYN 

choly  Lucy  Grey,  entering  her  splendid  room  with 
timid  steps  and  altogether  abashed  by  the  changed 
circumstances  under  which  they  found  their 
friend.  Their  introduction  of  themselves  was 
characteristic.  Dulcie,  unable  to  restrain  her  im- 
pulse, threw  herself  into  Evelyn's  arms  and 
waited  to  apologize  until  she  had  kissed  her.  Lucy 
Grey  stood  bolt  upright  and  rebuked  her  friend 
with  almost  tearful  melancholy. 

* '  Oh,  how  can  you,  Dulcie  .  .  .  and  it 's  all 
in  the  papers  too." 

"  I  don't  care  a  bit,"  rejoined  the  unabashed 
Dulcie.  "  I  must  kiss  her  if  she'll  kill  me  for  it." 
And  then  to  Evelyn  she  said:  "  Oh,  you  darling 
Lady  Etta,  oh,  I  am  glad ;  I  can't  believe  it's  really 
true.  But  I've  always  said  you'd  come  and  I've 
told  Mr.  Izard  so — and  there 's  the  gold  watch  you 
sent  me,  round  my  neck  where  it's  always  been 
since  the  day  it  came — and,  oh,  Etta,  what  times 
we  will  have  again — what  times !  ' 

Lucy  Gray  appeared  altogether  dumbfounded 
by  the  familiarity. 

"  You  forget  yourself,  Dulcie,"  she  protested 
again  and  again, ' '  after  it  being  in  the  papers  too 
— you  certainly  forget  yourself.  How  can  you 
say  such  things — to  her  ladyship  as  we  all  know 
after  what's  in  the  papers.  I'm  sure,  miss,  your 
ladyship  won't  think  any  the  worse  of  Dulcie  for 
this.  It's  her  bringing  up,  that's  what  it  is." 

Evelyn  was  very  much  amused;  but  she  has- 
tened to  reassure  them,  and,  insisting  upon  their 
relating  all  their  personal  troubles  (which  they 
did  with  many  exclamations  and  minute  particu- 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         257 

lars),  she  ventured  to  asked  them  what  the  papers 
really  had  said  and  why  it  should  make  a  differ- 
ence to  them.  To  this  they  answered  in  a  breath, 
that  the  Carlton  would  reopen  in  a  fortnight  with. 
"  Haddon  Hall  "  and  Miss  Etta  Romney  in  the 
title-role. 

"  And  it  says  you're  a  Duchess,  and  Mr.  Izard 
wouldn't  say  so  before  though  he  knew  it  all  the 
time."  Dulcie  added  with  considerable  enthu- 
siasm, ' '  Oh,  Etta,  how  you  kept  it  from  us  all,  just 
as  though  you  had  been  no  different  to  anybody 
else.  But  I  knew  you  were;  I  said  you  were  no 
ordinary  human  being,  and  Lucy  knew  it.  My 
life's  never  been  the  same  since  you  went  away,. 
Etta.  You  won't  leave  us  again,  will  you?  ' 

They  rambled  on  alternately  in  confusion  and 
delight  while  Evelyn  sent  for  the  morning  papers 
and  read  the  news  they  spoke  of.  There,  sure 
enough,  was  the  story  written  for  all  to  read. 

"  Many  will  hear  with  pleasure/'  said  the  "  Daily  Shuf- 
fler/' "that  one  of  the  most  capable  and  finished  of  our 
younger  actresses  is  about  to  return  to  the  stage.  Some* 
months  ago,  all  dramatic  London  was  not  ashamed  to  be> 
curious  concerning  the  Eomney  Mystery.  A  new  play- 
presented  to  us  an  artiste  of  no  common  order.  Scarcely- 
had  we  settled  down  to  admire  her  when  she  disappeared 
from  our  ken,  and,  while  we  do  not  doubt  that  certain  of 
her  friends  were  in  the  secret,  this  was  well  kept  and  re- 
mained undiscovered  by  the  public.  Now  we  know  that 
Etta  Eomney  is  the  nom  de  theatre  of  Lord  Melbourne's 
daughter,  the  Lady  Evelyn.  Mr.  Charles  Izard  informs1 
us  that  he  is  about  to  present  her  in  the  role  already 
familiar  to  us  and  sure  of  a  wide  welcome.  Etta  Romney, 
assuredly,  will  establish  the  success  of  the  Carlton  Thea- 
tre as  no  other  actress  of  our  time  could  do.  We  offer 


258          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

our  cordial  greetings  upon  her  return  to  the  stage,  and 
congratulate  all  concerned  upon  the  clever  advertisement 
achieved." 


Evelyn  cringed  when  she  read  the  last  words; 
but  her  sense  of  humor  proved  greater  than  her 
annoyance. 

"  Did  you  believe,  does  anyone  really  believe, 
that  I  went  away  to  advertise  myself?  "  she  asked 
the  girls. 

They  answered  in  a  breath  that  all  the  world 
believed  it. 

' '  Why,  what  else  should  it  have  been  for  ?  They 
say  you  and  Mr.  Tzard  did  it,  just  as  he  lost  Elsie 
Barton's  jewels  last  year  and  had  Billie  Dan  pho- 
tographed in  a  motor-car  accident.  People  love 
anything  like  that — they  think  it's  so  clever. 
There'll  be  such  a  scene  when  we  open,  Etta,  as 
never  was  known.  Shall  I  call  you  Etta,  though, 
or  should  it  be  your  ladyship?  ' 

Etta  was  about  to  answer  her  as  well  as  her 
amusement  would  let  her  when  a  man-servant 
opened  the  door  and  announced  a  visitor. 

"  Mr.  Charles  Izard,"  he  said,  and  the  girls 
stood  up  abashed. 

"  Mr.  Izard  here,  however  shall  I  look  him  in 
the  face !  ' '  cried  Lucy  in  an  extremity  of  terror. 

11  I  could  drop  through  the  ceiling  for  my 
nerves,"  said  Dulcie,  but  she  did  nothing  of  the 
sort;  merely  standing  and  giggling  nervously 
while  the  great  man  came  panting  in ;  and  he,  who 
had  * '  presented ' '  so  many,  now  presented  himself 
with  the  air  of  a  Rajah  just  dismounted  from  an 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          259 

elephant,  or  a  monarch  about  to  address  an  as- 
sembly of  barons. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said  to  Evelyn,  "  I've  come  to 
pay  my  respects  to  you,  and  that's  what  I  do  to 
few  of  'em.  You've  got  London  by  the  throat 
and  we'll  both  be  rich  before  you  let  go.  Didn't 
I  say  you  'd  come  back  to  me  T  Why,  when  I  think 
how  we've  fooled  the  populace,  I  could  shout 
'  bully  '  until  my  tongue's  tied.  Now,  let  these 
girls  go  their  way  and  we'll  talk  business.  I've 
come  to  offer  you  a  five  years'  engagement  cer- 
tain, and  there's  no  one  in  London  is  going  to 
better  my  terms.  Three  words  and  we  settle  it. 
Let  'em  be  spoken  and  we  're  friends  for  life. ' ' 

11  Mr.  Izard,"  said  Etta  quickly,  "  I  will  play 
at  your  theatre  for  three  months.  Then  I  am 
going  away.  If  I  return,  I  will  come  to  you  again. 
But  I  may  never  return,  and  so  I  cannot  engage 
myself  to  do  so.  Should  my  present  determina- 
tion be  altered 

Izard  laughed  hardly  and  almost  impatiently. 

li  At  coming  or  going,  my  dear,  you  have  no 
equal  in  Europe,"  he  admitted  gloomily  .  .  . 
and  then  quickly,  fearing  to  offend  her,  he  added, 
"  Well,  have  your  own  way.  Take  a  fortune  or 
leave  one,  Charles  Izard  will  always  be  your 
friend. ' ' 

It  was  a  great  admission,  honestly  meant, 
though  uttered  with  the  regret  of  one  who  saw 
a  golden  vision  falling  from  his  view.  To  himself, 
the  great  man  said:  "  There  is  a  man  and  he  is 
not  in  England.  The  Lord  send  him  a  handsome 
funeral  before  the  mischief  is  done." 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

THE   PRISONERS   AT   SETCHEVO 

GAVIN  heard  the  tap  of  the  blind  man's  stick  as 
the  old  Chevalier  felt  his  way  from  the  bare 
vaulted  room  in  which  a  scanty  supper  had  been 
served  to  them;  and  a  fit  of  despondency  coming 
upon  him,  more  bitter  than  ordinary,  he  buried 
his  face  in  his  hands  and  uttered  his  heart- 
stricken  complaint  aloud. 

"  What  are  they  all  doing,  then — why  has 
Chesny  broken  his  promise.  Good  God,  Arthur, 
have  we  no  friends  at  all?  Is  there  no  one  who 
has  interested  himself  in  our  story!  I  can't  be- 
lieve it.  It  isn't  the  English  way.  They  must 
find  out  sooner  or  later.  It  can't  be  for  all  time." 

Arthur,  whose  arm  and  shoulder  were  bound 
up  in  a  garment  that  might  have  been  a  Moorish 
bernonse,  smoked  his  pipe  quietly  and  did  not  for 
a  little  while  know  what  to  say.  Bitterly  as  he 
had  paid  for  that  which  he  called  a  "little  trot 
to  the  Balkans,"  the  English  spirit  forbade  the 
utterance  of  any  reproach,  or  even  a  word  that 
his  friend  might  take  amiss. 

"  My  people  never  trouble  about  me,"  he  said. 
11  They  know  me  too  well.  You  see,  I've  only  a 
couple  of  uncles  and  a  maiden  aunt  to  go  into 
hysterics;  and  my  lawyers  won't  advertise  while 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          261 

they  can  bank  my  dividends.  It's  different  with 
you,  Gavin.  I  '11  bet  your  people  were  on  the  scent 
long  ago ;  and  that 's  to  say  nothing  about  Evelyn. 
Of  course,  she  has  not  held  her  tongue.  No 
woman  does  when  she's  in  love  with  a  man;  and 
sometimes  she  can  be  eloquent  when  she  is  not. 
Oh,  yes,  I'll  go  nap  on  Evelyn  all  the  time.  She 
must  know  that  we  shouldn't  stay  in  this  cursed 
country  for  three  months  if  we  had  the  train  fare 
to  get  out.  Of  course,  she'll  cry  out  about  it — and 
if  she  cries  loudly  enough  the  Government  will 
act.  Not  that  I  believe  much  in  Governments — 
they  generally  weigh  in  when  the  corpse  is 
buried. ' ' 

Gavin  smiled  but  did  not  raise  his  head.  A 
fire  of  logs  burned  in  the  grate  before  them  and 
filled  the  room  with  a  haze  of  heavy  smoke;  the 
tapping  of  a  man's  stick  had  ceased,  and  the 
house  was  without  sounds  and  void.  In  the  hills 
above  them  a  wild  wind  scoured  the  clefts  and 
sent  whirling  clouds  of  snow  to  cover  all  living 
things  below.  The  torrent  beneath  the  draw- 
bridge had  become  a  monstrous  scala  of  icy  steps, 
a  ladder  with  glistening  rungs  which  none  but  the 
eagle  dared. 

"  Three  months — is  it  realty  three  months?  ' 
Gavin  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  unspeakable  weari- 
ness; "  three  months  in  this  awful  den.  Three 
months  listening  to  that  blind  devil  and  his  in- 
sults. God,  I  would  never  have  believed  that  a 
man  could  go  through  so  much  and  live.  And  you, 
Arthur — not  a  word  from  you  since  the  beginning. 
That's  what  hits  me.  If  you'd  only  speak  out  and 


262          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

tell  me  what  I  ought  to  hear,  it  would  be  easier. ' ' 

Arthur  laughed  and  stooped  to  light  his  pipe 
by  the  fire  again. 

"  What's  the  good  of  talking.  A  pal  asks  you 
to  come  and  you  go.  Is  it  his  fault  if  a  wheel 
comes  off  the  coach  I  Let  me  have  five  minutes 
alone  with  that  blind  scoundrel  and  I'll  be  elo- 
quent enough.  Otherwise  I  intend  to  make  myself 
as  comfortable  as  I  can  under  the  circumstances. 
There's  no  fun  in  boxing  scimitars — as  we  both 
of  us  have  discovered. ' ' 

They  had  discovered  it,  indeed.  From  the  first 
day  of  their  captivity  in  the  mountains,  insult, 
foul,  oft-repeated,  revolting  insult  had  been  their 
daily  punishment.  Coarse  food,  filthy  rooms 
.  .  .  these  they  could  have  suffered;  but  the 
blind  man's  tongue,  the  lash  of  the  whip  his  ser- 
vants wielded,  might  have  driven  braver  men  to 
that  last  resource  which  faith  in  God  alone  can 
question  or  deny.  The  very  wound  which  Arthur 
Kenyon  made  light  of  had  been  the  first  fruits  of 
their  English  temper.  A  gypsy  had  lashed  him 
across  the  shoulder  with  a  riding  whip  and  he  had 
answered  with  an  English  left,  straight  and  un- 
erring. But  the  blow  had  scarcely  been  struck 
before  a  wild  horde  filled  the  room,  its  knives  un- 
sheathed, murder  in  its  eyes — and  from  murder 
the  terrible  voice  of  the  blind  man  alone  withheld 
it.  So  the  two  comrades  spoke  of  fighting  scimi- 
tars, that  was  no  jest  at  all. 

"  You  are  a  friend  in  a  hundred  thousand," 
Gavin  exclaimed  as  one  who  spoke  from  his  very 
heart.  "I'm  not  going  to  thank  you,  Arthur. 


263 

What  is  the  good  of  words  between  you  and  me! 
Here  we  are,  worse  than  dead,  by  God  .  .  . 
and  not  a  ray  of  light,  not  a  speck  anywhere. 
How  will  it  end!  How  can  it  end?  You 
heard  him  tell  me  this  morning  that  Evelyn 
will  marry  his  rascally  son  in  ten  days'  time. 
Well,  to-night  I'm  just  in  that  humor 
which  says,  it  may  be  true,  he  may  have  tired 
her  out,  lied  to  her,  promised  her  God  knows 
what,  my  liberty  perhaps  and  her  father's  hap- 
piness afterwards.  It  might  be  that,  Arthur.  I 
try  to  put  it  fairly,  and  yet  I  must  say  that  it 

might  be  so " 

"  There  are  a  hundred  things  that  might  be 
so,  old  man.  This  house  might  fall  down  the 
hill  and  the  eagles  carry  you  and  me  to  the  tree- 
tops.  We  might  have  pate  de  foie  gras  for  supper 
and  eighty-four  champagne  to  wash  it  down  with. 
There's  no  greater  rot  than  the  might-be-so. 
Tell  me  how  to  get  out  of  this  cursed  den  and  I'll 
listen  with  both  ears.  As  for  Lady  Evelyn — she's 
too  much  a  woman  to  do  any  of  the  things  you 
talk  about.  For  all  you  know  some  sham  tale  has- 
been  told  her — telegrams  sent  in  our  name,  or 
something  to  lull  her  suspicions.  When  a  man  is 
travelling  a  thousand  miles  from  home,  people 
don't  get  alarmed  about  him  for  a  month  or  two. 
But  this  I'll  stake  my  existence  upon,  that  once 
Evelyn  guesses  it's  not  all  right  with  us,  she'll 
move  heaven  and  earth  to  know  the  reason  why. 
That's  what  keeps  me  sane.  I  should  kill  this  old 
man  and  myself  afterwards  if  it  were  not  that  I 


264          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

believe  in  my  friends.    Doing  so,  I  just  sit  down 
and  wait  like  the  Spaniards  for  to-morrow." 

Gavin  heard  him  in  silence.  This  great  room 
jhad  become  their  prison-house;  refectory  by  day 
and  dormitory  by  night.  For  an  hour  each  morn- 
ing, they  were  permitted  to  go  out  into  the  court, 
where  a  vista  of  the  sky  spoke  to  them  of  liberty 
and  the  massive  portcullis  of  the  drawbridge 
mocked  the  idle  word.  ' '  Until  the  Englishwoman 
is  my  son's  wife,"  had  been  the  sentence  pro- 
nounced by  the  old  Chevalier;  and  he  repeated 
it  day  by  day,  tapping  his  way  to  their  great 
bare  cell,  striking  at  them  with  his  stick,  cursing 
them — a  very  fiend  incarnate,  mad  with  the  lust 
of  money  and  the  desire  of  revenge.  And 
against  such  an  enemy  they  were  doubly  power- 
less— not  only  by  reason  of  his  blindness,  but  by 
the  knowledge  that  unseen  eyes  followed  him  to 
their  room  and  that  his  allies,  the  gypsies,  hidden 
in  the  house  of  Setchevo,  were  ready  to  do  his 
bidding  did  he  but  raise  his  voice  to  call  them. 

Brave  men,  who  do  not  know  fear  in  a  common 
way,  may  bend  and  break  before  such  torture  as 
this  .  .  .  the  torture  of  impotence  and  of  un- 
seen presences  about  them.  Gavin  had  come  to 
declare  that  he  would  sooner  a  man  had  burned 
Ms  hand  in  a  flame  than  compelled  him  to  listen 
each  day  at  dawn  for  the  tapping  of  that  stick 
upon  the  floor  and  the  coming  of  that  terrible 
sightless  figure.  Even  in  his  sleep  the  old  Chev- 
alier would  visit  him,  approaching  with  his  claw-, 
like  hands  extended  and  his  eyes  seeming  to\ 
shine  as  live  coals  in  the  darkness.  Never  had 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          265 

he  imagined  that  so  much  malignity,  cunning,  and 
vermin  could  be  the  fruits  of  imagined  wrong  or 
be  united  in  one  personality.  And  all  his  fine 
notions  of  retribution  and  reconciliation,  of  the 
old  man's  visit  to  England  and  the  Earl's  recep- 
tion of  him  there — how  vainglorious  they  had 
been  and  how  childish,  he  said.  Justly  had  such 
folly  been  overtaken  and  punished.  He  realized 
that  his  knowledge  of  human  nature  was  pitifully 
small. 

"  Evelyn  will  help  us  if  she  can,"  he  said  at 
length,  poking  the  fire  restlessly  and  listening  as 
of  habit  for  the  dreaded  beat  of  the  blind  man's 
stick  upon  the  stone  floor  without ;  ' '  she  will  help 
us  if  she  can,  but  what  can  a  woman  do!  Let's 
regard  that  view  of  it  as  out  of  the  question. 
What  I  would  ask — what  you  have  been  asking — 
is  just  this — why  does  Chesny  do  nothing?  He 
must  know  that  if  all  had  been  well,  we  should 
have  written  and  let  him  hear  it.  His  Govern- 
ment could  have  these  rats  out  in  five  minutes. 
Why  does  he  do  nothing!  He's  an  old  Winchester 
boy  and  could  see  us  through  if  he  knew.  I  can't 
think  that  such  a  man  as  Chesny  would  sit  on 
his  back  and  just  ask  what's  happened.  He's 
moving  somewhere — pity  it  isn't  on  the  road  to 
Setchevo. ' ' 

"  Perhaps  it  is,  and  they've  lost  the  road,"  re- 
joined Kenyon  with  a  sarcasm  he  could  not  con- 
ceal. "  Don't  you  see,  Gavin,  that  these  devils  will 
have  been  clever  enough  to  have  taken  care  of 
themselves.  Of  course,  they  will.  They  give  it 
out  that  we  are  making  for  the  Castle  of  Okna 


266          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

which  may  be  any  number  of  miles  you  like  from 
Setchevo.  The  escort — God  save  the  mark! — 
knows  better  than  to  blab.  Likely  enough  Chesny 
has  heard  that  we  crossed  the  frontier  into  Servia. 
Those  poor  devils  who  were  killed  are  unlikely 
to  be  important  enough  to  be  searched  for.  Life  is 
cheap  hereabouts — and  what  is  a  Turk  more  or 
less?  Chesny  says  we  are  all  right  and  goes 
picnicking.  Evelyn  waits  for  our  letters  and 
doesn't  a  bit  understand  why  they  don't  come. 
We  must  be  patient,  old  chap — patient  and  brave. 
Nothing  else  will  save  us." 

Gavin  assented,  though  he  could  admit  to  him- 
self that  the  common  heroics  of  the  nursery  were 
the  poorest  food  for  a  man  in  his  situation.  His 
days  of  waiting,  patience,  and  bravery  were  so 
many  hours  of  exquisite  torture,  like  none  he  had 
imagined  a  man  might  suffer  and  live  through. 
Evelyn,  what  of  her,  he  asked  himself  waking  and 
sleeping.  Would  the  heritage  in  her  blood  deliver 
her  to  the  bondage  prepared  for  her;  or  had  she, 
in  his  absence,  the  will  to  conquer  it?  He  knew 
not  what  to  think;  his  brain  wearied  of  conjecture 
and  wakened  only  when,  as  now,  the  blind  man's 
stick  tapped  the  bare  stones  and  the  sightless  eyes 
looked  into  his  own. 

"  Do  you  hear  him,  Arthur;  he's  coming  to  say 
Good-night  to  us." 

"  I  hear,  old  chap — my  God,  if  the  man  could 
only  see " 

"  Better  blind — you  would  have  killed  him  but 
for  that,  Arthur."* 

"  It's  true,  Gavin,  I  would  have  killed  him." 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          267 

11  And  then — his  friends.  Better  blind,  Ar- 
thur." 

Arthur  said  "  Hush,"  for  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps drew  very  near;  and  now  they  could  hear 
the  old  Chevalier  panting  and  shuffling  and 
plainly  approaching  them.  When  he  entered  the 
room  they  perceived  that  something  had  oc- 
curred beyond  the  ordinary.  The  hand  upon  the 
stick  quivered  and  trembled — the  muscles  of  the 
forehead  were  twitching;  there  were  drops  of 
sweat  upon  the  man's  forehead,  and  his  voice 
echoed  the  tumult  of  passion  which  shook  him. 

11  One  of  you  has  written  a  letter  to  Bukharest," 
he  cried  hoarsely:  "  by  whose  hand  was  that!  ' 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  amazed. 
Neither  had  written  such  a  letter  nor  knew  aught 
of  it. 

"  By  whose  hand?  "  the  Chevalier  continued, 
his  anger  growing  as  he  spoke;  "  silence  will  not 
serve  you,  gentlemen.  By  whose  hand  was  that 
letter  written?  ' 

Gavin  now  laughed  aloud  with  a  laugh  that  ex- 
pressed both  contempt  and  defiance. 

"  Had  I  written  it,  I  would  not  have  answered 
you,"  said  he;  "as  I  have  not,  your  question 
merely  arouses  my  curiosity." 

Arthur  did  not  answer  at  all;  but  he  stood  up 
as  though  fearing  attack  and  his  hand  rested 
upon  the  back  of  the  heavy  oak  chair — one  of  the 
few  ornaments  of  that  dismal  room.  His  silence 
provoked  Georges  Odin  as  no  words  could  have 
done. 

"  Let  your  friend  speak,"  he  cried,  advancing 


268          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

with  stick  upraised.  ' '  I  will  know  the  truth ;  my 
servants  shall  flog  it  out  of  you — do  you  hear, 
I  will  have  you  whipped — answer  me,  who  wrote 
that  letter?  " 

Kenyon  said  not  a  word;  and  now  the  old  man 
struck  at  him  with  his  stick  wildly  and  blindly,  in' 
a  paroxysm  of  anger.  One  heavy  blow  fell  upon 
Gavin's  shoulder  and  he  stepped  back  with  an 
oath;  but  the  young  man's  temper  could  not 
brook  the  new  insult  and  he  flung  himself  heavily 
upon  the  Chevalier  and  they  fell  to  the  ground 
together. 

"  Arthur — for   God's   sake "  cried   Gavin. 

"  It 's  all  right,  Gavin ;  I  won 't  hurt  him,  but  I 
must  have  that  stick." 

He  staggered  to  his  feet,  the  bludgeon  in  his 
hand;  but  the  blind  man  did  not  move.  Fearing 
he  knew  not  what,  dreading  the  sudden  apparition 
of  the  gypsies  who  spied  upon  their  every  move- 
ment, Gavin  snatched  a  log  from  the  fire,  and, 
stooping,  he  held  it  up  that  he  might  look  upon  the 
old  man's  face. 

"  He  is  dead,"  he  said. 

Arthur  did  not  speak.  The  log  blazed  and 
crackled  and  ebbed  to  darkness  and  still  the  two 
men  did  not  move.  Without,  in  the  courtyard, 
not  a  sound  could  be  heard.  The  House  of  Set- 
chevo  might  have  been  a  tomb  of  the  living. 

But  the  Englishmen  knew  that  it  concealed  their 
hidden  enemies  and  that  the  dawn  would  bring 
them  to  the  room  to  avenge  the  man  who  had  been 
their  patron  and  their  friend. 


CHAPTEE   XXX 

THERE   IS   NO   NEWS   OF   GAVIN   ORD 

LONDON,  which  loves  a  duchess  or  even  per- 
sonages of  slightly  less  degree,  when  it  discovers 
them  in  the  arena  where  all  the  world  may  stretch 
out  a  finger  to  touch  the  noble  pedestals,  this 
London  liked  the  story  of  the  Lady  Evelyn 
and  flocked  to  the  Carlton  Theatre  to  see  her  and 
to  criticise.  The  great  Charles  Izard,  who  meas- 
ured all  human  greatness  by  the  box-office,  did 
not  hesitate  to  declare  that  business  to  the  extent 
of  nineteen  hundred  pounds  a  week  spoke  more 
eloquently  than  any  critic  .  .  .  and  he  would 
add  triumphantly,  "  Why,  I  discovered  her,  and 
she  makes  the  rest  of  them  look  like  thirty  cents. ' ' 
By  this  time  he  implied  a  general  inferiority  of 
other  actresses  who  were  not  filling  their  theatres 
to  the  extent  of  nineteen  hundred  pounds  a  week ; 
and,  regardless  of  the  plain  fact  that  mere  curios- 
ity had  become  his  best  friend,  he  continued  to 
declare  that  he  was  the  greatest  and  the  wisest 
of  men  and  that  Etta  Eomney  would  have  been 
a  disma.1  failure  under  other  management. 

Evelyn  certainly  was  a  great  success.  No  din- 
ner party  failed  to  discuss  her  charm  or  to  admit 
it.  You  heard  of  her  every  day  in  theatrical 
clubs;  a  common  question  when  people  met  was, 


270          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

"  Have  you  seen  Etta  Romney?  '  Returning  to 
their  first  judgments,  the  critics  recanted  nothing, 
though  more  than  one  really  discerning  writer 
perceived  a  change  in  her.  The  splendid  "Watley, 
with  some  nice  asides  upon  Sophocles,  Plautus, 
Judic,  and  Voltaire,  admitted  a  difference: 

"This  is  not  the  Di  Vernon  of  the  Spring/'  he  wrote  ; 
"  here  is  a  newer  conception,  something  of  Rejane,  a  voice 
of  sincerity  matured ;  introspective  comedy  and  the  drama 
of  pathos.  .  .  ." 

The  "  Daily  Shuffler,"  in  plainer  terms,  said: 

"  Miss  Romney  does  not  let  herself  go — she  appears  to 
take  poor  Di's  troubles  too  greatly  to  heart.  We  confess 
to  certain  watery  tributes  to  her  touching  earnestness 
scintillating  upon  our  manly  cornea  .  .  .  but  we  would 
remind  this  charming  young  actress  that  we  go  to  the 
theatre  to  laugh  as  well  as  to  cry  .  .  .  and  she  has 
forgotten  that.  Perhaps  the  November  fogs  have  some- 
thing to  do  with  it.  She  came  to  us  in  the  Spring  .  .  . 
and  with  the  Spring  her  lightness  of  heart  may  be  given 
back  to  her.  One  of  her  audience,  at  least,  hopes  that  it 
will  be  so.  .  .  ." 

No  one  was  more  conscious  of  this  change  than 
Evelyn  herself.  That  wild,  almost  uncontrollable 
passion  of  art,  had  left  her.  She  liked  to  think 
that  she  had  conquered  it,  and  became  a  new  Etta, 
for  the  sake  of  a  man  who  loved  her  and  had  saved 
her  from  herself.  Here  she  was,  lauded  to  the 
skies  by  critical  London;  asked  to  every  house, 
fawned  upon,  coveted,  proclaimed  a  success  be- 
yond knowledge ;  and  yet  as  far  from  knowing  the 
secrets  of  such  success  as  ever  she  had  been  in 
all  her  life.  Anxiety  for  Gavin's  safety  attended 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         271 

every  hour  of  her  busy  day.  Confident  at  first 
that  his  dogged  perseverance,  his  stubborn  resolu- 
tion, and  his  manifest  prudence  would  be  weapons 
enough  for  the  work  he  had  to  do  in  Roumania, 
she  had  paid  but  little  heed  to  his  silence ;  for  that 
she  understood  to  be  a  wild  country  and  one  which 
would  not  expedite  his  letters.  When  he  ceased 
to  write,  she  said  that  he  would  have  gone  to  the 
mountains.  A  longer  spell  of  silence  and  the  first 
whisper  of  her  alarms  began  to  make  itself  heard. 
How  if  he  could  not  write  to  her  because  of  acci- 
dent or  illness  or  even  conspiracy?  Terrified  by 
the  phantoms  of  imagination  which  now  crowded 
upon  her,  she  compelled  her  father  to  warn  the 
Ministry  at  Bukharest,  the  Foreign  Office,  the 
Consulate.  The  letters  were  answered  by  prom- 
ises as  meaningless  as  they  were  futile.  Gavin's 
few  relatives  in  England  bestirred  themselves 
with  little  result — while  Bukharest  answered  that 
the  Englishmen  had  crossed  the  mountains  into 
Servia  and  that  nothing  further  of  them  was 
known. 

So  Evelyn  had  come  to  London  to  save  the  man 
she  loved,  if  her  new  independence  and  her  love 
might  save  him.  She  cared  no  longer  that  her 
father  should  know  of  this  determination;  for 
she  doubted  both  his  will  to  help  her  and  the 
honesty  of  the  declaration  that  he  would  do  so. 
In  truth,  Robert  Forrester  had  been  unable  to 
give  battle  to  those  forces  which  the  years  and 
his  own  youth  had  raged  against  him.  To  one 
who  had  loved  the  wild  life  of  an  adventurer,  who 
had  sown  tares  in  many  lands,  the  harvest  time 


272          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

of  age  could  support  no  pretentious  dignity  nor 
long  maintain  those  greater  ambitions  which  had 
momentarily  attended  his  succession  to  the  earl- 
dom. 

He  sank  beneath  the  mental  burdens;  became 
an  old  man  when  he  should  still  have  been  in  his 
prime;  could  utter  but  a  senile  assent  to  every 
rogue  who  tricked  him.  Deep  down  in  his  heart 
lay  hunger  for  the  old  life.  An  evil  cynicism 
laughed  at  the  restraints  which  place  and  power 
put  upon  him. 

"Better  a  night  on  the  hills  with  Zallony,"  he 
could  tell  himself,  "  than  a  life's  dominion  in  the 
realms  of  social  fatuity."  It  would  have  been  so 
easy  for  him  had  Evelyn  married  Georges  Odin's 
son.t  What  it  might  have  meant  to  her  he  had 
hardly  considered. 

And  yet  possibly  his  love  for  Evelyn  was  the 
truest  emotion  of  his  life.  When  her  letter 
reached  him  and  he  could  bring  himself  to  under- 
stand it,  the  blow  fell  with  a  stunning  force  which 
seemed  to  shatter  every  remaining  idol  of  his 
life.  His  beloved  daughter!  The  mistress  of  his 
house!  Capering  about  upon  a  stage  for  the 
guineas  of  a  man  he,  Robert  Forrester,  could 
have  bought  up  twenty  times  over.  Here  was  a 
debacle  beyond  any  he  had  imagined.  The  humili- 
ation of  it,  the  cruelty  of  it — more  than  that,  the 
malice  of  her  destiny!  Was  she  not  Dora  d'ls- 
tran's  daughter,  and  had  not  this  blood  of  rebel- 
lion run  in  her  veins  since  her  childhood?  What 
else  could  he  have  looked  for,  he  asked  himself 
.  .  .  and  in  the  same  breath  he  set  the  logic 
of  it  aside  and  sat  down  to  write  to  her. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         273 

It  was  a  pitiful  letter,  full  of  the  tenderest  ex- 
pressions and  the  bitterest  reproach. 

"Do  you  owe  nothing  to  my  name?"  he  asked  her,  and 
in  the  same  sentence  could  protest  his  love  for  her.  "  I 
am  an  old  man  and  am  alone  and  must  look  to  the  news- 
papers for  news  of  the  daughter  who  is  all  to  me.  Is  this 
fame  so  much  above  a  father's  affection,  then;  so  dear  a 
thing  that  his  home  must  be  a  home  no  longer  because  of  it? 
The  people  say  you  are  a  great  actress;  some  day  you  will 
ask  yourself,  Evelyn,  if  it  was  worth  being  that  to  wound  one 
who  has  had  no  greater  desire  than  the  happiness  of  his 
only  child.  .  .  ." 

Just  in  such  a  strain  had  he  delivered  himself 
at  home,  and,  now  as  then,  the  words  earned  buti 
a  cold  response.  "  There  is  some  secret  of  my 
father's  life  which  is  hidden  from  me,"  Evelyn 
said.  What  it  could  be,  why  it  should  affect  her, 
she  knew  not.  When  he  spoke  of  his  failing 
health,  the  letter  found  her  more  sympathetic. 
She  would  have  gone  to  him  at  any  cost  had  she 
understood  that  he  was  really  ill ;  but  the  general 
terms  he  used  seemed  to  imply  no  immediate 
necessity  .  .  .  and  was  there  not  Gavin  to  be 
considered  ? 

Indeed,  this  priceless  gift  of  love  now  influenced 
every  act  and  deed  of  her  life.  She  counted  the 
hours  which  should  bring  her  news  of  Gavin,  wor- 
shipped her  own  image  of  him  upon  the  stage  at 
night ;  wrestled  unceasingly  with  the  voices  which' 
would  speak  of  the  Etta  Romney  that  had  beenj 
the  child  of  passionate  dreamings  and  of  an  East-> 
ern  heritage  no  longer. 

And  her  prayer  was  this,  for  Gavin's  safety; 
and  her  own  salvation  in  his  love. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE   HOUSE   AT   HAMPSTEAD 

EVELYN  had  played  Di  Vernon's  part  for  thirty 
nights  exactly  when  just  as  she  was  going  on  the 
stage,  on  the  evening  of  the  thirty-first  day,  a 
call-boy  put  a  telegram  into  her  hand  and  she 
had  scarcely  opened  it  when  she  discovered  that  it 
was  from  her  father. 

11  I  am  passing  through  London  upon  my  way 
to  Paris,"  it  said;  "  perhaps  I  shall  be  in  the 
theatre.  If  not,  come  to  me  afterwards  to  De 
Kyser's  Hotel.  I  will  engage  a  room  for  you 
there." 

She  told  the  boy  that  there  was  no  answer  to 
the  message  and  immediately  passed  to  the  gar- 
den scene  she  had  played  so  often  and  always  with 
such  sweetness  and  light.  The  thought  that  her 
father  might  be  in  the  house  excited  her  strangely. 
Difficult  as  it  is  for  a  player  upon  the  stage  to 
identify  those  in  the  stalls,  she  peered  intently, 
nevertheless,  at  the  serried  ranks  before  her  and 
was  conscious  of  a  sense  of  disappointment  when 
her  search  was  vain.  A  second  thought  sug- 
gested that  her  father  might  be  hidden  by  the 
curtains  of  a  private  box;  and  with  this  in  her 
mind  she  found  herself  playing,  not,  as  it  were, 
to  an  audience  of  strangers,  but  to  one  who  loved 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         275 

her  and  had  never  understood  her.  Surely  her 
father  would  read  something  of  her  own  story, 
of  her  loyalty  to  her  old  home,  and  the  depth  of 
feeling  which  had  sent  her  from  it  when  he  lis- 
tened to  Di  Vernon  and  her  sweet  sincerity.  This 
was  her  hope,  though  she  knew  not  whether  the 
Earl  were  present  or  no.  To  her  anxious  ques- 
tions during  the  entractes,  old  Jacobs,  the  stage- 
door  keeper,  declared  that  no  one  "  hadn't  come 
round  from  the  front  not  since  he'd  drunk  his 
supper  beer  ' ;  —a  vague  answer,  insomuch  as  the 
beer  in  question  made  its  appearance  at  six 
o'clock  and  continued  to  do  so  at  short  intervals 
until  eleven. 

She  must  suffer  her  curiosity,  therefore;  and 
take  what  profit  of  it  she  might.  When  the  play 
was  over  and  no  news  came  from  the  front,  she 
concluded  with  a  natural  regret  that  her  father 
had  not  been  present;  and  she  was  just  wonder- 
ing how  she  would  get  to  De  Kyser's  Hotel  and 
exactly  where  it  might  be  when  old  Jacobs  him- 
self, unable  to  find  a  messenger,  came  round  to 
tell  her  that  a  carriage  stood  at  the  door  ready 
for  her  .  .  .  and  that  it  was  a  '  *  nobby  one  ' ' 
to  boot. 

"  She's  footlights  enough  for  a  ballet,"  the  old 
man  said,  with  the  patronizing  air  of  one  who  did 
not  keep  motor  cars  and  thought  very  little  of 
those  who  did.  "  He  says  he  comes  from  your 
father,  but  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  were  from 
Buckingham  Palace.  Will  you  go,  Miss,  or  shall 
I  say  something  civil  to  him?  " 

Evelyn  hastened  to  say  that  she  would  go ;  and, 


276         THE    LADY    EVELYN 

putting  on  her  furs,  she  went  out  to  the  carriage. 
This  was  waiting  in  the  Haymarket,  and  the  driver 
appeared  to  be  quite  a  boy,  an  open-faced,  honest- 
looking  lad,  who  told  her  frankly  that  he  was  not 
to  take  her  to  De  Kyser  's  Hotel,  but  to  a  house  at 
Hampstead  where  the  Earl  expected  her. 

"  There's  a  Mr.  Fillimore  there,  Miss,"  he  said. 
1 '  I  think  he 's  a  clergyman.  They  said  you  would 
know,  and  it  would  be  all  right  for  you  to  stop  the 
night.  The  gentlemen  are  going  away  early  in 
the  morning,  I  believe — at  least  I  heard  the  butler 
saying  so " 

It  was  rather  startling,  but  Evelyn  suspected 
nothing.  That  old  chatter-box,  the  Vicar  of 
Moretown,  had  relatives  at  Hampstead,  she  knew, 
and  nothing  would  be  more  natural  than  that  he 
should  have  accompanied  her  father  to  town. 
None  the  less,  it  was  annoying  to  have  to  go  as 
she  was ;  and  nothing  but  the  Earl 's  known  inten- 
tion to  travel  abroad  almost  immediately  induced 
her  to  consent. 

11  Could  you  bring  me  back  to-night  if  I 
wished!  "  she  asked  the  lad. 

He  answered:  "  Oh,  certainly,  Miss.  I'm  up 
half  the  night  carrying  ladies  about  sometimes." 

She  entered  the  carriage  without  further  parley 
and  they  drove  swiftly  through  Regent  Street  and 
Portland  Place.  Her  desire  to  meet  her  father 
betrayed  her  unconquered  affection  for  him.  She 
would  tell  him  frankly  that  she  would  not  return 
to  him  until  she  went  as  Gavin  Ord's  wife;  and 
that  her  life  from  this  time  would  be  devoted  to 
discovering  the  result  of  Gavin's  journey  and  the 
reasons  which  kept  him  in  Eoumania.  This  would 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         277 

not  be  to  say  that  he  had  ever  dealt  ungenerously 
with  her;  far  from  it,  the  whole  of  his  immense 
fortune  had  ever  been  at  her  command;  but  the 
advantages  which  his  money  conferred  upon  her 
entailed  corresponding  duties;  and  she  did  not 
believe  that  her  love  for  Gavin  permitted  her  to 
live  under  the  roof  which  also  sheltered  Georges 
Odin's  son.  For  these  reasons  she  had  left  her 
home;  and  to  justify  herself  by  them  she  now 
went  to  Hampstead  at  her  father's  bidding. 

There  was  much  gray  mist  in  the  lowlands  by 
Regent's  Park;  and  although  the  night  became 
clearer  as  they  climbed  the  height  to  Hampstead, 
it  remained  dark  and  moonless,  and  rarely  per- 
mitted Evelyn  to  say  where  she  was  or  how  far 
they  had  driven.  In  no  way  concerned  but  very 
tired,  she  closed  her  eyes  and  listened  dreamily 
to  the  rolling  sound  of  wheels  upon  the  wet  road, 
telling  herself  that  life  was  truly  one  swift  jour- 
ney with  the  echo  of  the  worldly  wheels  ever 
rolling  in  human  ears  and  saying  "  onward  to 
an  unknown  goal;  whether  you  will  or  no;  desir- 
ing to  rest  or  zealous;  still  shall  this  coach  of 
destiny  hurry  you  on  by  the  houses  of  childhood, 
of  love,  and  of  death,  to  that  kingdom  of  mystery 
which  all  must  enter. ' '  How  happy  had  she  been 
if  Gavin  were  beside  her  and  they  journeyed  to- 
gether to  some  haven  of  their  desires,  while  all 
the  past  should  be  written  out  and  that  peace  of 
understanding  be  truly  found.  Vain  dream,  sweet 
illusion — a  voice  called  her  from  it,  the  rush  of 
cold  air  upon  her  face  awakened  her.  They  had 


278          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

arrived  at  their  destination  and  their  journey  was 
done. 

Plainly  an  old  house.  Evelyn  starting  up  from 
her  dream  perceived  an  old-fashioned  stone  porch 
with  clematis  thick  upon  it,  an  open  door  showing 
a  brightly  lighted  hall  within  and  a  blazing  wel- 
come warmth  from  an  open  grate  beyond.  To  the 
footman  who  helped  her  from  the  carriage  she 
addressed  a  brief  question. 

"  Is 'my  father,  is  Mr.  Fillimore  here?  "  she 
asked. 

The  man  bent  his  head;  she  understood  him 
to  be  a  foreigner;  and,  impatient  to  know,  she 
entered  the  hall  and  the  great  doors  were  imme- 
diately closed  behind  her. 

' '  This  way  if  you  would  please,  ladyship, ' '  the 
footman  continued  in  such  execrable  English  that 
she  would  have  laughed  at  it  upon  any  other 
occasion.  "  The  gentlemen  were  here." 

He  opened  a  door  upon  the  right-hand  side  of 
the  hall  and  she  found  herself  in  a  small  panelled 
boudoir;  so  perfect  in  its  scheme  of  decoration, 
so  cozy,  so  warm,  that  she  asked  no  longer  why 
her  father  had  come  to  Hampstead. 

"  Please  tell  the  Earl  that  I  am  here,"  she  said 
— and  remembered  as  she  said  it  that  the  Vicar's 
relatives  had  been  spoken  of  at  Moretown  as  very 
prodigies  of  riches.  The  footman,  in  answer  to 
her,  nodded  his  head  as  foreigners  will ;  and  ven- 
turing no  more  English  phrases  he  left  her  alone. 

How  cold  she  was!  And  what  a  picture  of  a 
room!  The  Japanese  panelling  delighted  her. 
The  hangings  in  green  silk  delighted  her.  What 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          279 

inexpressibly  luxurious  chairs !  And  books  every- 
where, books  in  English,  in  French,  in  Italian — 
novels,  biographies,  picture-books.  Did  a  fire 
ever  roar  up  a  chimney  with  such  a  pleasant 
sound.  The  warmth  made  the  blood  tingle  in 
her  veins ;  she  bathed  in  it,  stooped  to  it,  caressed 
it  with  hands  outspread  to  the  blaze.  And  this 
was  her  occupation  when  she  heard  the  door  open 
behind  her ;  and  leaping  up,  said,  *  *  Dear  father — 
I  am  so  glad." 

"  My  dear  lady,  your  father  has  not  yet  ar- 
rived. ' ' 

She  stood  transfixed,  realizing  her  situation 
and  the  peril  of  it  in  one  swift  instant.  Count 
Odin,  the  man  she  had  fled  from;  Count  Odin, 
whose  very  name  she  had  tried  to  forget,  he  was 
her  host  then.  Not  for  a  moment  would  she  de- 
ceive herself  with  the  consideration  of  other  possi- 
bilities or  likely  accidents.  She  had  been  lured 
to  the  house  by  a  trick,  and  the  intentions  of  those 
who  brought  her  there  could  not  but  be  evil.  So 
much  she  understood,  and  in  understanding  found 
her  courage. 

"  My  father  is  not  here,"  she  repeated  after 
him,  guarding  her  self-control  and  standing  be- 
fore him  defiantly. 

He  answered  her  almost  with  humility. 

"  No,  he  is  not  yet  come,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  It 
is  not  my  fault.  His  reasons  are  his  own  .  .  . 
and,  Lady  Evelyn,  there  are  many  who  will  say 
that  he  is  right." 

She  looked  at  him  amazetl. 

"  Did  you  ask  me  here  to  justify  myself?  "  she 


280          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

exclaimed,  the  blood  running  to  her  cheeks  and 
her  flashing  eyes.  "Am  I  to  answer,  then,  to  you? 
I  will  believe  such  an  impertinence  when  I  hear 
it."  And  turning  from  him  to  the  fire,  she  said, 
"  How  little  you  understand  me — how  little  you 
could  ever  know  of  any  Englishwoman.  To  dare 
to  bring  me  here — to  think  that  I  should  be  afraid 
of  you!  " 

He  smiled  at  her  contempt  and  came  a  little 
nearer  to  her. 

"  I  never  thought  that,"  he  said  slowly.  "  I 
never  accused  you  of  want  of  courage,  Lady  Eve- 
lyn. Perhaps  I  am  guilty  of  an  impertinence. 
You  shall  tell  me  when  you  have  heard  my  news 
' — the  news  I  bring  you  from  Eoumania. ' ' 

Evelyn  turned  about  in  spite  of  herself  and 
looked  him  full  in  the  face. 

1  *  The  news  from  Boumania !  ' 

"  Certainly,  news  of  your  friend,  Mr.  Gavin 
Ord." 

The  plot  had  been  well  contrived,  and  it  did  not 
fail.  Curiosity,  nay,  fear  almost,  proved  stronger 
than  Evelyn's  alarm  or  any  thought  of  her  own 
safety.  Vainly  she  tried  to  suppress  her  emotion ; 
while  the  man,  for  his  part,  followed  every  move- 
ment of  her  graceful  figure  with  eyes  that  de- 
voured its  contour  and  a  purpose  which  said, 
*'  she  shall  be  my  wife  this  night." 

"  Well?  "  she  cried,  her  heart  beating  wildly, 
her  hands  clinched.    What  hours  of  anxiety,  of 
dread,  of  passionate  regret  that  one  word  re- 
called to  her. 
-     The  Count  drew  a  chair  near  the  fire  and  mo- 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          281 

tioned  to  her  to  sit.  She  obeyed  him  with  a  docil- 
ity which  did  not  surprise  him.  He  held  the 
master  cards  and  would  play  them  one  by  one. 

11  Well,"  he  said  lightly  enough,  "  to  begin 
with,  your  friend  is  still  in  Roumania." 

"  Am  I  unaware  of  that?  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Of  course,  you  would  not  be.  He  is  still  in 
Roumania  and  a  prisoner." 

"  A  prisoner — why  should  he  be  a  prisoner?  r 

"  Because,  dear  lady,  he  is  my  father's  enemy." 

She  realized  what  it  meant  and  sat  resting  her 
bowed  head  upon  her  little  hands. 

"  I  will  go  to  Eoumania;  I  will  see  him,"  she 
said  presently. 

Odin  smiled  again  at  that. 

"  It  would  be  a  hazardous  journey,  and  I  fear 
an  unprofitable  one,"  said  he. 

"  It  can  be  no  less  profitable  than  the  silent 
friendship  of  those  who  should  speak.  But  we 
are  talking  in  parables,"  she  said  quickly,  "  and 
for  once  I  believe  that  you  are  telling  me  the 
truth." 

"  A  flattering  admission.  I  will  do  my  best  to 
be  worthy  of  it.  Let  us  continue  the  story  as  we 
began.  Your  friend  is  a  prisoner  in  the  house 
of  my  friends.  They  will  release  him  upon  the 
day  I  command  them  to  do  so — not  an  hour  be- 
fore. They  are  my  servants,  Lady  Evelyn — and 
in  the  Carpathians  to  obey  is  the  only  command- 
ment known  to  them.  Should  I  say  to  them  '  this 
man  must  not  return  to  England,'  then  he  would 
never  return.  I  think  you  can  understand  that. 
It  rests  with  me  to  save  your  friend's  life  or  to 


282          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

.  .  .  but  we  are  a  long  way  from  coming  to 
that  yet." 

Evelyn  trembled  but  she  did  not  speak.  The 
plain  issue  of  that  duel  of  sex  could  not  be  hid- 
den from  her.  She  was  in  the  house  of  a  man 
who  had  brought  her  there  by  a  trick ;  a  scoundrel 
and  an  adventurer,  and  she  was  alone.  The 
price  of  Gavin  Ord's  liberty  was  the  surrender 
of  her  honor.  She  understood  and  was  silent,  and 
the  man  knew  that  she  understood. 

'  *  We  are  a  long  way  from  that, ' '  he  continued, 
with  a  new  note  in  his  voice  which  spoke  chiefly 
of  his  passion  for  her.  "  I  hope  that  we  .shall 
never  come  to  it.  When  I  first  saw  you  in  London, 
Lady  Evelyn,  I  said  that  there  should  never  be 
another  woman  for  me.  I  say  so  again  to-night. 
If  you  do  not  marry  me,  I  will  never  marry.  Yes, 
I  love  you,  and  I  am  of  a  nation  that  learns  from 
its  childhood  how  women  should  be  loved.  Con- 
sent to  be  my  wife  and  I  will  live  for  nothing  else 
but  your  happiness.  Your  English  friend  shall 
win  his  liberty  to-morrow;  your  father  shall  be 
my  father's  friend.  I  will  live  where  you  wish 
to  live,  serve  you  faithfully,  have  no  thoughts  but 
those  you  wish  me  to  have.  Evelyn — that  is  what 
I  would  first  say  to  you  to-night — that  I  love  you 
— that  you  must  love  me — that  I  cannot  live  with- 
out you." 

He  bent  over  her  and  tried  to  touch  her  hand. 
She  did  not  doubt  that  she  had  become,  as  he  said, 
the  great  hope  of  his  life.  And  just  as  she  had 
said  in  Derbyshire,  "  Etta  Romney  would  marry 
Mm,"  so  now  for  an  instant  did  the  same  voice 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         283 

speak  to  her  to  tell  her  the  truths  of  such  a  pas- 
sion as  this  and  to  put  the  spell  of  its  great 
temptation  upon  her.  Then,  white  and  trembling, 
the  true  Evelyn  spoke. 

"  Count  Odin,"  she  said,  "  I  love  another 
man.  I  must  answer  you  once  and  forever — this 
cannot  be;  it  is  impossible." 

He  heard  her  patiently,  did  not  yet  threaten 
her,  and,  indeed,  continued  to  be  such  a  lover  as 
he  had  declared  the  men  of  his  nation  to  be. 

"  I  believe  nothing  of  the  kind.  This  man  has 
appeared  before  you  as  a  hero.  He  goes  like  a 
new  Don  Quixote  to  tilt  against  the  windmills  of 
his  folly.  You  do  not  love  such  a  man — and  he — *• 
he  knows  nothing  of  what  love  is." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  I  do  love  him,"  she  said  very  calmly.  "  I 
love  him,  and  I  shall  marry  him." 

11  When  he  returns  from  Eoumaniat  " 

' '  When  he  returns,  or  when  I  go  to  him  there. '  * 

He  laughed  now  at  her  earnestness. 

'  We  will  go  together — you  and  I,"  he  said. 
"  We  will  start  for  Paris  to-morrow.  It  is  a 
stage  upon  our  journey.  I  sent  for  you  so — to 
go  to  Paris  with  me  to-morrow.  Of  course,  your 
father  goes.  He  will  tell  you  so  when  he  comes 
here.  He  goes  with  us,  and  is  pleased  to  be  out 
of  England.  Why  should  he  not  be?  Here  is  all 
the  town  gaping  at  his  daughter.  That  pains  him. 
I,  too,  dislike  it,  for  I  do  not  wish  the  world  to 
call  my  wife  an  actress.  No,  Lady  Evelyn,  we 
shall  prevent  it — your  father  and  I.  In  France, 
you  will  forget  all  this.  The  day  will  come  when 


284         THE    LADY    EVELYN 

you  will  know  that  we  have  been  your  friends." 

He  would  have  had  it  appear  that  he  spoke 
with  sincerity  and  earnestness ;  but  Evelyn  heard 
little  of  that  which  he  said.  The  deep-laid  plot 
never  for  a  moment  deceived  her.  She  knew  that 
her  father  was  in  no  way  concerned  in  it;  she 
understood  that  she  had  been  brought  to  the 
house  by  a  subterfuge  and  that  courage  alone 
would  save  her. 

"  Count  Odin,"  she  said  as  she  rose  and  faced 
him,  "  when  my  father  wishes  me  to  go  to  Paris 
he  will  tell  me  so.  Your  threats  I  treat  with  con- 
tempt. You  are  one  of  those  men  whose  part  in 
life  is  to  be  woman's  enemy.  I  know  you  now, 
and  am  not  even  afraid  of  you.  Let  me  leave  this 
house  quietly  and  I  will  forget  that  I  ever  came 
here.  Compel  me  to  stay  and  I  will  find  a  way. 
to  the  nearest  police  station  in  spite  of  you.  That 
is  my  answer.  I  have  nothing  further  to  say." 

He  listened  to  her  as  though  he  had  expected 
just  such  an  answer  as  this. 

' '  Dear  lady, ' '  he  said  with  provoking  insolence, 
"  do  you  know  that  it  is  one  o'clock  and  that  we 
are  nearly  five  miles  from  Charing  Cross?  ' 

' '  It  would  make  no  diif erence  to  me  if  we  were 
fifty." 

"  But  your  father  is  coming  here " 

"  That  is  not  true." 

"  Come,  you  compel  me  to  be  angry.  Under- 
stand that  I  have  no  intention  whatever  of  letting 
you  go.  If  you  persist,  I  must  speak  more 
frankly. ' ' 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          285 

"  A  new  experience.  Stand  aside,  please.  I 
am  going  to  leave  this  house." 

He  laughed  brutally. 

"  Go  to  your  English  friend.  I  will  telegraph 
that  you  are  coming.  Go  to  him — if  he  is  still 
alive,  dear  lady." 

She  shuddered  but  did  not  flinch. 

"  I  will  tell  the  story  where  all  the  world  may 
read  it  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow — to-morrow,  how  far  off  is  to- 
morrow sometimes.  Beware  of  to-morrow,  Lady 
Evelyn." 

He  drew  aside  and  opened  the  door  for  her; 
and  she,  wondering  greatly  at  his  apparent  com- 
pliance, put  her  furs  about  her  shoulders.  Just 
for  one  instant  she  stopped  and  with  a  woman's 
instinct  would  have  bargained  with  Jiim  for 
Gavin's  life. 

"  Give  me  your  word  of  honor  that  no  harm 
shall  happen  to  Mr.  Ord  and  I  will  be  silent, ' '  she 
said. 

He  crossed  the  room  and  looked  closely  into 
her  face. 

* '  We  will  speak  of  that  to-morrow — when  your 
father  comes,"  he  said. 

The  words  perplexed  her.  She  hesitated  but 
had  nothing  more  to  say.  Outside  in  the  hall,  the 
fire  still  burned  brightly  in  the  open  grate,  and 
the  gas  lamps  were  lighted.  Not  a  sound  could 
be  heard;  no  human  being  appeared  to  inhabit 
that  remote  and  lonely  tenement.  Trembling 
with  excitement  and  afraid,  she  knew  not  of  what, 
Evelyn  had  reached  the  front  door  and  was  stoop- 


286 

ing  to  unbolt  it  when  a  pair  of  strong  arms  were 
clasped  suddenly  about  her  and  a  heavy  cloak 
thrown  over  her  head.  Taken  utterly  by  surprise, 
overwhelmed  by  terror  of  the  circumstance,  she 
felt  herself  lifted  from  her  feet  and  carried 
swiftly  from  the  hall.  All  her  strength  could  not 
fling  those  strong  arms  from  her  nor  put  aside 
the  cloak  which  stifled  her  cries.  Inanimate, 
afraid  as  she  had  never  been  in  all  her  life,  she 
lay  almost  senseless  in  the  man's  arms  and  let 
him  do  as  he  would  with  her. 

For  she  knew  that  she  was  Odin's  prisoner,  and 
that  no  act  or  will  of  hers  could  save  her  from 
the  plot  so  subtly  contrived. 


CHAPTER   XXXH 

A  SHOT  IN   THE   HILLS 

THE  two  men  sat  in  the  great  bare  room  of  the 
House  at  Setchevo  and  watched  the  ebbing  fire- 
light as  it  played  upon  the  dead  man's  face  and 
declared  the  horror  of  it.  Not  a  sound  came  to 
them  but  that  of  their  heavy  breathing.  They 
feared  almost  to  raise  a  hand  lest  by  any  move- 
ment the  living  should  be  called  to  avenge  the 
dead.  Just  as  he  had  fallen,  heavily  and  in  anger, 
so  the  old  Chevalier  lay,  his  face  upturned,  the 
sightless  eyes  still  open  as  though  gazing  now 
upon  the  eternal  mysteries.  And  none  knew 
better  than  Gavin  Ord  that  death  might  be  their 
worst  enemy,  loosing  upon  them  the  worst  pas- 
sions of  their  jailers  and  forbidding  them  any 
longer  even  to  hope. 

This  he  knew,  and  yet  there  came  no  profit 
of  the  knowledge.  If  he  feared  death,  it  was  for 
Evelyn's  sake.  Sitting  there  by  the  firelight, 
waiting  in  tense  doubt  for  the  coming  of  the  dead 
man's  friends,  he  could  recall  a  picture  of  Evelyn 
as  first  he  saw  her  in  the  hall  of  the  Manor.  How 
stately  she  was;  with  what  dignity  she  had  re- 
ceived him!  And  what  an  odd  mental  hallucina- 
tion he  had  suffered  when  he  thought  to  hear  her 
crying  to  him  from  the  river.  But  was  it  alto- 


288          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

gether  an  hallucination  and  did  this  explanation 
satisfy?  Here,  to-night,  it  seemed  that  he  must 
die  because  of  his  friendship  for  her.  How  fool- 
ish, then,  the  call  from  the  unseen  world  had  been 
if  its  meaning  were  so,  and  his  own  death  had 
been  the  subject  of  the  prophecy!  That  he  could 
not  believe.  The  firm  idea  that  he  had  been 
chosen  to  love  and  befriend  this  beautiful  girl  re- 
mained his  own  even  in  this  momentous  hour. 
He  must  suffer  this  to  save  her — how  or  by  what 
means  he  did  not  pretend  to  say — nor  would  he 
account  death  as  other  than  a  friend  if  by  death 
salvation  came  to  one  who  alone  among  women 
had  taught  him  to  say,  "  I  love." 

A  wolf  howled  upon  the  hills  without  and  the 
lingering,  doleful  cry,  taken  up  by  a  thousand 
lifted  throats,  came  upon  the  silence  as  the  dead! 
man's  requiem.  Arthur  Kenyon  shivered  when 
he  heard  it  and  beat  the  fire  down  as  though  dark- 
ness were  preferable  to  this  aureole  upon  the 
staring  face.  When  Gavin  said  "  Hush,"  and 
bade  him  listen,  he  half  turned,  upon  an  impulse, 
toward  the  dead  man  as  though  the  dead  were 
about  to  speak.  The  terrible  strain  of  that  sus- 
pense had  become  insupportable.  What  mattered 
it  since  the  end  must  be  the  same — sooner  or  later, 
to-night  or  to-morrow,  the  reckoning,  the  ven- 
geance? He  was  young,  and  life  might  have  much 
in  store  for  him;  but  travel  had  taught  him  to 
say  "  Kismet  "  and  he  said  it  unflinchingly. 

' '  There  would  be  snow  on  the  hills, ' '  he  cried  at 
last,  as  though  his  thoughts  were  out  there  upon 
the  lonely  mountain  road. 


289 

Gavin,  for  answer,  gripped  him  by  the  arm 
and  forced  him  to  listen. 

"  Do  you  not  hear?  "  he  cried  in  a  broken  whis- 
per; "  some  one  is  calling  the  Chevalier!  " 

They  bent  together  as  though  to  hear  more 
keenly.  In  the  courtyard  without,  footsteps  could 
now  be  heard  and  a  voice  crying,  "  Master, 
master !  '  The  hour  had  come  then  1  Here  were 
those  who  sought  them. 

"  Will  you  speak  to  them,  Gavin?  " 

"  Hush  for  God's  sake — I  must  think, 
think " 

"  Thatrs  a  second  footstep — can't  you  hear  it? 
My  God,  Gavinr  what  shall  we  do?  ' 

"  Let  me  think,  Arthur,  let  me  think." 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  could  feel 
his  temples  throbbing.  For  Evelyn's  sake,  for 
her — ah,  if  that  miracle  of  love  could  but  come  to 
pass !  To  open  the  gates,  to  defy  the  perils  of  the 
hills,  to  pass  as  in  flight  by  towns,  rivers,  cities, 
the  abodes  of  men,  the  lonely  passes,  the  lights  of 
towns,  the  storms  of  seas,  to  venture  all  for 
Evelyn's  sake.  If  it  could  be  that?  The  voice  of 
reason  answered,  "  Fool,  the  men  are  at  the 
door. ' ' 

He  rose  excitedly  from  his  chair  and  gripped 
his  friend  by  the  arm. 

"  Tap  the  pavement,"  he  said,  "  tap  as  the  old 
Chevalier  used  to.  I  must  think,  Arthur — for 
God's  sake  now  tap  with  the  stick." 

Kenyon  obeyed  him  as  a  child  would  have  done. 
He  tapped  upon  the  stone  floor  with  the  stick  but 
did  not  speak  a  word.  Gavin  had  him  by  the  ana. 


290         THE    LADY    EVELYN 

now  and  appeared  almost  as  one  in  a  trance.  His 
eyes  were  half -closed ;  he  muttered  to  himself, 
stretching  out  his  hand  and  feeling,  as  it  were, 
for  a  path  which  the  darkness  would  disclose  to 
him.  And  the  word  upon  his  lips  was  '  *  Evelyn  ' 
— oft  repeated,  as  though  she  were  near  and  did 
not  hear  him. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Gavin?  ' 

*'  To  lead  you  from  this  house,  Arthur — do  not 
speak  to  me;  some  one  is  calling  us,  Arthur. " 

He  passed  out  into  the  bare  stone  corridor  lead- 
ing to  the  banqueting  hall.  From  the  shadows 
one  of  the  gypsies  appeared  with  the  swiftness  of 
an  apparition.  He  carried  a  lantern  in  his  hand 
and  lifted  it  while  he  spoke. 

"  Master!  "  he  cried,  and  then  reeled  back,  the 
words  broken  upon  his  lips. 

They  passed  him  by,  leaving  him  cowering  by 
the  wall;  he  did  not  cry  after  them  or  raise  an 
alarm.  And  Gavin  went  on  swiftly,  still  toward 
the  gate,  as  though  his  will  would  open  it. 

"  No  man  could  cross  the  hill  road  to-night," 
Kenyon  said  presently.  He  was  thinking  that  if 
they  passed  the  gates,  their  allies  would  be  the 
wolves.  Gavin  did  not  answer  him  at  all  this 
time.  He  had  come  to  the  gate  by  which  you  reach 
the  courtyard,  and,  lifting  the  latch,  he  went  out 
unquestioned. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  that  fellow  has  just 
unlocked  it.  I  knew  it  must  be  so,  Arthur." 

"  He  has  gone  to  bring  the  others,  Gavin." 

"  They  will  not  hear  him.  Or  if  they  come, 
they  will  be  powerless  to  harm  us,  Arthur.  It 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          291 

must  be  so.  I  hear  Evelyn's  voice.  She  would 
not  call  me  if  the  gates  were  shut." 

Kenyon  knew  not  what  to  say.  Once  or  twice 
before  he  had  known  and  seen  Gavin  in  such  a 
mood  as  this,  led  by  unseen  hands  and  speaking 
with  another's  voice.  Never  had  he  scoffed  at  it 
or  misunderstood  his  friend.  He  took  it  to  be 
a  force  within  that  was  beyond  his  own  expe- 
rience. To-night,  at  least,  it  had  led  them  out  of 
the  death-chamber  to  look  once  more  upon  the 
heaven  of  stars  above. 

"  I  will  follow  wherever  you  lead,  Gavin,"  he 
said  in  a  whisper, '  *  only  tell  me  what  I  must  do. ' ' 

"  We  are  going  to  the  bridge,  Arthur.  Tap  as 
the  old  Chevalier  did.  I  shall  cry  '  Open !  '  when 
we  come  there.  They  will  let  us  out  and  we  shall 
cross  the  mountains." 

The  idea  in  his  head  remained  there  inerad- 
icably.  Despite  the  horde  of  gypsies  that  was 
concealed  somewhere  in  the  darkened  rooms  of 
that  weird  house,  Gavin  pushed  his  way  toward 
the  portcullis  and  demanded  that  the  keeper 
should  open  to  him.  This  was  the  first  time  he 
had  spoken  aloud  since  he  quitted  the  room  where 
the  dead  man  lay:  and  instantly  at  his  words  the 
courtyard  became  alive  with  the  murmur  of 
voices  and  the  sounds  of  shuffling  footsteps. 

"  Quick,  Gavin,  they  are  after  us,"  Kenyon 
cried,  holding  his  friend 's  arm  and  trying  to  draw 
him  aside  to  a  place  of  safety. 

Gavin  would  not  move,  however.  Imitating, 
as  well  as  he  could,  the  voice  he  had  heard  so 
.often  challenging  the  keeper  of  the  bridge,  he 


292          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

continued  to  shout,  l '  Open — I  wait !  '  None  the 
less,  he  knew  that  armed  men  were  all  about  him 
and  that  any  moment  might  bring  them  at  his 
throat. 

"  Open— I  wait!  " 

The  gate-keeper,  awakened  from  a  heavy  sleep, 
came  from  the  rude  watch-tower  above  the  bridge 
and  stood  there  with  a  lantern  in  his  hand.  Rais- 
ing it  he  looked  upon  the  faces  of  the  men,  and 
drew  back  with  hand  uplifted. 

* '  Why  do  you  call  to  me  in  my  master 's  voice  I ' ' 
he  asked. 

They  could  not  answer  him.  A  great  shouting 
in  the  courtyard  behind  them  warned  them  that 
the  truth  was  known.  The  gypsies  had  discov- 
ered the  dead  man's  body  and  pell-mell  they  be- 
gan to  swarm  about  those  they  believed  to  be  his 
assassins.  Haggard,  in  the  weird  light,  their 
figures  in  phantom  shapes,  they  pressed  on, 
searching  every  nook  and  cranny  with  the  naked 
blade  of  sword  and  scimitar,  wailing  their  doleful 
lament  and  encouraging  one  another  to  the  pur- 
suit. Nor  had  Gavin  any  belief  that  he  could 
escape  them.  Called  by  the  peril  from  the  un- 
natural trance  which  had  fallen  upon  him,  he 
swung  round  upon  his  heel  as  though  to  protect 
his  friend  whose  life  he  had  thus  jeopardized ;  but 
in  his  heart  he  believed  that  nothing  could  save 
them.  This  was  the  moment  when  the  uttermost 
penalty  of  folly  must  be  paid.  It  found  him  ready 
with  a  dogged  courage,  but  lacking  all  ideas  ex- 
cept that  supreme  determination  too  fight  for  his 
life  to  the  end. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         293 

"  Give  me  the  bludgeon,  Arthur — I  am  the 
stronger. ' ' 

"  Don't  think  of  that — there's  something  left 
in  my  locker  still.  Side  by  side,  old  chap,  unto  the 
end.  What  luck!  We'd  have  been  across  the 
bridge  in  another  ten  seconds." 

'  *  Some  of  them  are  going  to  remember  us  any- 
way. Stand  close  to  me,  Arthur — it  won 't  be  long 
now. ' ' 

Indeed  one  of  the  gypsies  discovered  him  as  he 
spoke  and  with  a  loud  cry  to  the  others  made 
known  his  news.  The  horde  swept  on  with  the 
ferocity  of  wolves.  Knives  gleaming,  eyes  bright 
in  the  darkness,  some  voices  cursing,  some  howl- 
ing in  brutish  anger,  they  came  pell-mell  toward 
the  gate.  And  then,  as  suddenly,  they  halted  and 
a  silence  as  of  the  dead  of  night  fell  upon  the 
house. 

Some  one  upon  the  mountain  road  without  had 
fired  a  rifle.  The  report  of  it,  echoing  in  the 
lonely  hills,  was  like  a  sharp  peal  of  thunder, 
rattling  from  peak  to  peak  with  monstrous  sounds 
near  by  and  low  rumblings  far  away.  To  the 
gypsies  it  spoke  a  message  which  they  alone  un- 
derstood. They  stood  altogether,  shivering  and 
gibbering  in  the  darkness.  Their  muttered  words 
were  unintelligible  to  Gavin.  Beyond  the  sound 
of  the  rifle-shot  he  could  hear  nothing — or  when 
the  silence  was  broken  again,  it  was  by  the  tongue 
of  wolves  indescribably  haunting  and  long  drawn 
as  a  dirge  of  woe. 

"  There  is  some  one  on  the  mountain  road  and 


294          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

they  are  afraid  of  him,"  he  said  quickly  to 
Kenyon. 

The  idea  of  profit  to  come  by  the  truce  occurred 
to  him  in  the  same  breath;  and,  crying  loudly, 
again  he  bade  the  doorkeeper  to  open. 

' '  Open,  open !  ' 

Twenty  voices  took  up  the  cry.  The  gypsies 
vied  with  each  other  in  shouting  the  summons. 
For  they  understood  the  signal.  The  rope  was 
about  their  own  necks,  they  said.  The  last  chance 
was  to  open  the  gate  to  their  prisoners.  When 
the  doorkeeper  hesitated,  trembling  and  afraid, 
they  stabbed  him  to  the  heart  and  he  rolled  head- 
long to  the  foot  of  the  bridge  near  by  which  his 
life  had  been  lived. 

But  Gavin  and  Arthur  Kenyon  passed  out  to 
the  mountain  road,  and  looking  down  to  the  val- 
ley they  perceived  the  flame  of  bivouac  fires  in 
the  wood  below;  and  they  understood  imme- 
diately that  cavalry  had  been  sent  from  Bukha- 
rest  to  their  aid  and  that  the  hour  of  their  peril 
had  passed. 


CHAPTER   XXXIH 

DJALA 

EVELYN  recovered  consciousness  after  that 
which  seemed  a  very  night  of  evil  dreaming,  but 
which  was  in  reality  no  more  than  a  brief  half- 
hour  of  insensibility.  Greatly  weakened  by  the 
struggle  and  the  swoon  attending  it,  she  lay  for 
some  while  unable  to  lift  herself  upon  the  bed 
where  they  had  laid  her  or  to  take  any  notice  of 
the  room  to  which  she  had  been  carried.  When 
her  strength  returned  somewhat,  and  a  sudden 
memory  of  the  circumstances  of  her  visit  recurred 
to  her,  she  sat  up  immediately,  a  great  fear  at  her 
heart  and  a  dread  upon  her  such  as  she  had  never 
suffered  before. 

What  house  was  it?  Who  was  its  owner?  What 
was  the  meaning  of  the  insult  placed  upon  her? 
The  questions  raced  through  her  brain  so  quickly 
that  she  found  an  answer  to  none  of  them.  At 
one  time  she  could  almost  believe  that  her  OWL. 
father  was  privy  to  the  outrage  and  had  led  to 
this  desperate  course  by  his  detestation  of  the 
role  she  played  in  London.  Rejecting  this  im- 
mediately because  of  her  love  for  him,  she  was 
then  tempted  to  say  that  Odin  relied  upon  his 
threats  and  believed  that  she  would  submit  to 
him  to  save  Gavin's  life.  This  appeared  the  more 


296         THE    LADY    EVELYN 

plausible  story.  Was  not  the  man  from  the  East 
a  Roumanian  with  but  primitive  ideas  of  a  modern 
civilization  and  the  son  of  a  country  wherein 
women  were  still  little  better  than  the  silent  vic- 
tims of  men 's  passions  ?  Perhaps  he  believed  that 
he  could  carry  her  out  of  England.  It  might  be 
even  that. 

She  was  in  a  spacious  bedroom,  furnished,  so 
far  as  the  dim  light  would  permit  her  to  see,  in 
a  modern  style  and  with  many  evidences  of  later- 
day  luxury.  A  fresh  fire,  burning  with  a  light 
flame  in  an  open  grate,  cast  flashing  rays  upon 
darkly-papered  walls  and  the  heavy  pictures 
which  ornamented  them.  A  sofa  had  been  drawn 
up  before  the  fire  and  showed  its  pattern  in  the 
fitful  beams;  there  was  an  electric  chandelier 
above  a  dressing-table  and  a  single  reading  lamp 
upon  a  little  table  by  the  bedside.  Afraid  of  the 
darkness  in  a  degree  unknown  to  her,  Evelyn  tried 
to  find  the  switch  by  which  the  lamp  might  be 
lighted;  but  her  cold  hands  bungled  it  and,  de- 
spairing, she  rose  from  the  bed  and  crossed  the 
room  toward  the  heavily-curtained  window. 

Was  escape  to  be  thought  of?  In  sober  reason, 
no;  but  sober  reason  says  nothing  to  a  woman 
driven  by  the  supreme  dread  of  wrong  and  guard- 
ing her  courage  even  while  she  is  afraid.  Evelyn 
knew  in  her  own  mind  that  so  shrewd  and  daring 
a  schemer  as  Count  Odin  would  leave  her  no  loop- 
hole, neglect  no  precaution,  nor  spare  any  insult 
by  which  his  own  safety  might  be  assured.  She 
knew  it  and  yet  must  go  to  the  window  and  draw 
the  curtains  back  and  touch  the  heavy  shutters 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         297 

and  feel  her  heart  sink  when  she  came  to  see  that 
they  were  twice  barred  and  that  no  woman's  hand 
could  open  them.  Despair  alone  could  have  led  her 
to  believe  that  the  Count  would  be  so  foolish ;  but 
despair  did  not  mock  her  twice  and  she  left  the 
door  untried  lest  she  should  brand  her  own  in- 
telligence with  contempt.  Let  it  be  sufficient  that 
she  was  the  prisoner  of  the  house,  far  from  any 
human  aid,  alone  with  her  own  courage  for  her 
friend.  She  admitted  it  and  sank  down  upon  the 
sofa,  to  stretch  her  hands  to  the  warming  blaze, 
and  to  breathe  that  simple  prayer  to  God  for  aid 
which  is  the  supreme  pathos  of  womanhood. 

The  night  was  silent  without  the  silence  of  mid- 
winter; the  fire  blazed  as  though  in  enmity  to  the 
cold  of  the  early  morning  hours.  Evelyn  had  no 
watch,  nor  did  she  know  what  hour  it  might  be. 
When  a  distant  bell  chimed,  she  caught  a  faint 
sound  upon  the  still  air,  but  it  told  her  nothing. 
And  with  the  passing  hours  there  came  upon  her  a 
desperation  she  could  not  master ;  a  desire  to  kill 
this  man  who  had  so  affronted  her,  to  brave  him 
at  whatever  cost,  even  if  it  were  to  die  at  his  feet. 
Etta  Komney  lived  again  in  this,  the  Etta  of  the 
East,  the  child  of  the  mountains  which  knew  few 
laws  but  those  of  might.  She  was  her  mother's 
daughter  now;  the  voice  of  heritage  spoke,  and 
she  would  not  still  it. 

The  distant  church  clock  chimed  again  and  she 
counted  three  strokes  upon  its  bells.  It  was  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning  then,  and  another  four 
hours  must  pass  before  dawn  came.  Or  would  it 
sever  come  in  that  shuttered  and  curtained  room 


298          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

which  she  must  call  her  prison?  Sometimes  she 
could  have  wished  that  the  Count  would  throw 
down  the  challenge  to  her  and  that  she  might 
answer  him  there  and  then.  Suspense  as  ever 
tortured  her  nerves;  but  in  her  case  also  con- 
tributed to  the  victory  of  reason.  For  Gavin's 
sake  the  evil  in  her  heart  must  die,  she  said.  She 
must  act  not  only  as  a  brave  woman  but  as  a  wise 
one.  Moreover,  her  true  self,  beginning  to  speak, 
reminded  her  that  there  would  be  an  outcry 
through  all  London  to-morrow,  and  that  such  a 
man  as  Count  Odin  would  never  face  the  publicity 
of  it;  his  one  sure  weapon. was  his  threat  against 
her  lover.  At  this  she  cowed  and  knew  that  her 
heart  had  grown  cold  again. 

Could  she,  indeed,  save  Gavin  by  a  word?  Had 
she  believed  it  she  would  have  spoken  that  word, 
so  greatly  did  she  love.  But  she  did  not  believe 
it.  Her  faith  in  a  brave  man's  resolution,  in  his 
daring  and  success,  remained  unshaken.  Gavin 
might  even  come  to  this  house,  she  thought;  and 
dreamingly  she  sat  very  still  by  the  fireside  and 
listened  for  the  sound  of  his  footstep.  A  pro- 
found silence  followed  upon  the  foolish  act. 
When  next  she  moved  it  was  with  agitation  and  a 
sudden  spasm  of  fear  she  could  not  quell. 

She  was  no  longer  alone  in  the  room.  How  she 
had  come  to  believe  herself  so  she  could  not  even 
imagine.  Out  of  the  darkness  a  pair  of  jet  black 
eyes  were  looking  up  to  her  own.  The  wavering 
firelight  becoming  stronger  as  the  coal  reddened 
and  burst  into  brighter  flame,  showed  her  the 
huddled  figure  of  a  young  girl  crouching  by  the 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         299 

grate  and  watching  her  so  intently  that  the  very 
glance  seemed  a  tragedy. 

' '  Djala ! ' '  she  cried  in  spite  of  herself — '  *  D jala, 
the  gypsy  girl!  ' 

She  knew  it  was  no  other  and  her  fear  passed 
with  the  knowledge.  Many  a  day  had  she  seen 
this  child  with  the  gypsies  who  had  followed  the 
Count  to  England.  That  she  should  be  in  this 
house  at  such  a  time  was  the  greater  mystery. 
Evelyn  knew  not  whether  the  omen  were  good  or 
bad. 

"  Why  do  you  not  speak  to  me?  "  she  said; 
"  why  are  you  silent?  ' 

The  gypsy  started  up  as  though  the  sound  of 
a  voice  had  waked  her  also  from  reverie. 

"  Excellency,"  she  answered,  speaking  in  such 
broken  English  that  Evelyn  caught  her  meaning 
with  difficulty;  "  excellency,  I  wait  for  my 
brother  and  then  we  will  go  away." 

"  Who  are  you,  child — how  did  you  come 
here?  ' 

"  I  am  Zallony's  daughter,  excellency — my 
brother  brought  me  across  the  sea  from  my  own 
country. ' ' 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  were  in  Derbyshire  at  my 
father's  house.  When  did  you  leave  there, 
child?  " 

<  *  A  month  ago,  excellency.  My  brother  came 
to  London.  We  had  little  money  and  were  poor. 
The  Count  would  follow  us,  he  said.  So  we 
waited,  but  there  was  no  message.  Excellency, 
he  should  not  have  treated  us  so  ill,  for  he  was  my 
lover  and  owes  it  to  me.  He  should  have  come  to 


THE    LADY    EVELYN 

us,  excellency  ,  .  .  and  then  I  would  not  have 
told  them.  God  help  him  now,  for  my  brother 
will  kill  him.  Yes,  I  followed  him  here,  but  none 
knew  of  it.  And  to-night  I  told  them  the  truth. 
Excellency,  had  you  not  come  here  I  never  would 
have  told  them  .  .  ..  but  I  have  loved  him 
and  he  has  forgotten,  and  I  must  go  back  to  my 
own  country  alone  and  ashamed." 

She  spoke  in  such  a  low  tone,  the  childish  eyes 
were  so  wide  open,  the  heart  beating  so  rapidly  be- 
neath the  fine  lace  which  covered  her  breast,  that 
one  who  knew  nothing  of  her  Eastern  birth  or  of 
all  that  the  love  of  a  man  meant  to  her,  might 
well  have  believed  her  story  an  hysterical  fiction 
and  turned  from  it  with  just  impatience.  To 
Evelyn,  however,  it  spoke  of  danger  as  no  other 
word  of  all  that  evil  night  had  done.  The  peril 
of  the  house,  the  vengeance  which  might  fall  upon 
it — tiie  price  of  the  betrayal,  her  own  silence  when 
a  word  might  save  a  man  from  the  penalty  of  his 
sins — this  all  flashed  through  her  troubled  brain 
and  left  her  with  a  new  sense  of  helplessness  and 
surpassing  dismay. 

"  How  did  you  come  here;  how  did  you  enter 
this  room?"  she  asked  quickly, 

' '  Molines,  my  uncle,  who  brought  you  here — he 
keeps  the  keys,  excellency. ' ' 

"  Then  he  let  you  in — he  knows  of  your  being 
here?  " 

"  He  knows,  excellency,  and  is  afraid.  We 
must  save  the  English  lady,  he  said.  That  is  why 
he  sent  me  to  you." 

"  I  must  see  your  uncle  at  once,  Djala.     .     .     . 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         301 

I  must  tell  the  Count.  What  you  speak  of  is  a 
groat  crime.  Let  us  make  them  hear  us.  Oh^ 
my  God,  we  cannot  be  silent. ' ' 

The  doubt  and  suspense  of  it  all  became  over- 
whelming, and  she  stood  groping  in  the  dim  light 
for  the  doorway  and  beating  upon  it  with  both 
her  hands.  No  one,  however,  answered  her.  The 
little  gypsy  crouching  by  the  fire  seemed  afraid 
to  move  or  to  speak.  The  silence  of  the  house 
remained  unbroken.  Evelyn  turned  away  in  such 
despair  as  seemed  to  her  scarcely  human. 

"When  is  your  brother  coming  here!"  she 
asked  the  child. 

Djala  answered  without  looking  up. 

"  I  do  not  know,  but  he  will  come,  excellency 
.  .  .  and  he  will  speak  for  me  to  the  CounL 
Yes,  and  then " 

The  words  were  stilled  upon  her  lips  and  she 
sat  up  to  listen.  A  sound  of  men's  voices  sud- 
denly made  itself  audible  in  the  room  below.  The 
gypsy  heard  it  first  and  spoke  no  more  of  her 
vengeance. 

"  That  is  my  brother's  voice,"  she  said — and 
then,  realizing  what  she  had  done,  she  caught  at 
Evelyn's  dress  with  both  her  hands  and  im- 
plored her  pity. 

"  Save  him,  excellency,  for  Christ's  dear  saker 
save  the  man  I  love, ' '  she  implored. 

"  I  cannot  save  him,  Djala — am  I  not  as  help- 
less as  you?  ...  I  cannot  save  him." 

They  waited  together,  hand  in  hand,  listening 
to  the  story  which  the  voices  told  them.  Now  it 
would  be  to  the  voice  of  argument,  then  to  that  of 


302          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

entreaty,  ultimately  to  the  swift  interchange  of 
phrase  which  spoke  of  anger.  When  the  duologue 
ceased,  the  silence  had  greater  terrors  of  doubt 
than  any  they  had  yet  suffered.  What  had  hap- 
pened, then?  Why  did  none  come  to  them1?  They 
could  but  hope  that  reason  had  prevailed. 

"  Let  us  light  a  lamp,  excellency;  I  am  afraid 
of  the  dark." 

"  I  cannot  do  it,  Djala.  ...  I  cannot  find 
the  switch." 

"  Let  us  try  together,  excellency — how  your 
hands  tremble !  And  mine  are  cold,  so  cold.  Let 
us  try  to  find  the  light." 

They  felt  along  the  wall,  gathering  courage 
from  their  occupation.  The  main  switch  was 
upon  the  landing  outside  the  door,  but  they  found 
the  plug  of  the  bedside  lamp  and  managed  to  fix 
it,  getting  for  their  reward  a  little  aureole  of  light 
upon  the  bed  and  greater  shadows  upon  the  fur- 
ther walls.  That,  however,  which  pleased  them 
better  was  a  green  silken  bell-rope  hanging  down 
by  the  bedside  and  revealed  now  by  the  lamp. 
Evelyn  took  the  cord  in  both  her  hands  and  pulled 
it  thrice.  But  no  bell  rang. 

"  It  is  broken,  Djala;  they  did  not  mean  us  to 
ring  it — hush — listen — they  are  talking  again — 
that  is  the  Count's  voice  .  .  ." 

She  caught  the  child's  hand  impulsively  and 
drew  her  to  the  door  as  though  it  would  help  them 
to  hear  the  voices  more  plainly.  The  controversy 
below  had  been  resumed  suddenly  and  with  a 
bare  preface  of  civil  words.  Loud  above  the 
other  the  Count's  voice  could  be  heard  in  threat- 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          303 

ening  expostulation.  It  ceased  upon  a  haunting 
cry — lingering,  horrible,  and  to  be  heard  by  the 
imagination  long  after  it  had  died  away. 

Djala  did  not  speak  when  she  heard  the  cry; 
she  seemed  as  one  transfixed  by  terror,  unable 
to  move  from  the  place  and  afraid  to  learn  the 
the  truth.  Presently  low  sobs  escaped  her;  she 
became  hysterical  and  sank  at  Evelyn's  feet, 
moaning  and  trembling. 

11  They  have  killed  him,  excellency  .  .  . 
oh,  my  God,  my  God !  ' 

Evelyn  could  answer  nothing.  Stooping,  she 
lifted  the  fainting  girl  and  laid  her  upon  the  bed. 
While  she  was  not  less  afraid  or  distressed  than 
the  gypsy,  this  nearer  danger  had  quickened  her 
faculties  and  awakened  her  to  action.  Once  more, 
though  the  act  seemed  folly,  she  caught  at  the 
silken  bell-rope  and  pulled  it  with  all  her 
strength.  The  answer  was  a  jarring  tintinabula- 
tion  heard  clearly  in  the  silence.  She  stood  to 
listen  and  knew  that  footsteps  were  approaching 
the  landing.  Then  the  key  turned  in  the  lock  and 
a  man,  whom  she  had  seen  before,  a  Tzigany  be- 
yond all  question,  entered  without  ceremony. 

11  Lady,"  he  said  in  broken  English,  "  come 
with  me — you  must  leave  this  house." 

' '  I  will  not  go  until  I  know  the  truth ;  I  cannot 
leave  the  child,"  she  said,  pointing  to  Djala. 

"  There  are  those  who  will  care  for  her.  As 
for  the  truth  .  .  .  it  is  a  man's  quarrel. 
They  will  be  friends  to-morrow,  lady.  Obey  me 
and  go  quickly." 

*  *  I  will  not  leave  the  child, ' '  she  protested — not 


304          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

knowing  whether  his  story  were  false  or  true  and 
fearing  greatfy. 

For  answer,  he  took  her  by  the  arm  menacingly 
and  drew  her  toward  the  door. 

"  Go  before  ill  befall  you.  The  child  is  our 
daughter.  Are  we  of  the  people  who  do  not 
care  for  their  own  children?  Go,  lest  worse  fol- 
low! The  man  will  live — I,  Molines,  say  it." 

The  words  found  her  without  argument.  This 
child  had  been  with  the  gypsies  at  the  Manor. 
What  harm  would  befall  her  if  she  remained  with 
them  here  ?  And  it  was  no  time  for  woman 's  pity. 
The  story  of  the  house  lay  upon  her  as  a  heavy 
shadow.  She  had  the  desire  to  flee  far  from  it; 
to  blot  it  out  of  her  dreams;  to  forget  its  humilia- 
tions ;  to  escape  its  darkness.  A  voice  called  her 
to  the  way  of  salvation  and  she  went  with  the 

gypsy. 

"  The  carriage  will  take  you  as  you  came,"  he 
said;  "  ask  no  questions,  lady;  do  not  betray  us 
if  you  value  your  life  and  that  of  another.  That 
which  has  happened  in  this  house  to-night  will 
never  be  known  to  the  world.  Seek  not  the  story, 
for  it  is  not  yours  to  seek." 

She  had  no  rejoinder  for  him.  There  were 
lamps  still  alight  in  the  hall  as  they  descended  the 
staircase  and  the  door  of  a  room  upon  the  right 
hand  side  was  a  little  way  open.  Evelyn  half- 
believed  that  she  saw  the  body  of  a  man  lying 
upon  the  table  there  as  she  passed  swiftly  by; 
but  the  door  closed  immediately  and  the  gypsy 
hurried  her  from  the  house. 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          305 

"  Remember,"  he  said,  "  be  silent  ...  it 
is  your  only  hope,  lady." 

She  shuddered  and  drew  away  from  him.  The 
electric  brougham  which  had  carried  her  from 
the  theatre  now  rolled  slowly  up  the  drive.  She 
entered  it  without  a  word  and  so  was  driven 
swiftly  away. 


CHAPTEE   XXXIV 

THE   SHADOW   OP   THE   EIVER 

IT  wanted  an  hour  of  dawn  when  Evelyn 
quitted  the  lonely  house.  She  had  given  no  in- 
structions to  the  driver,  nor  did  he  appear  to  ex- 
pect any.  In  truth,  his  orders  were  very  far  from 
being  in  accordance  with  the  old  gypsy's  promise. 
A  deed  of  blood  had  been  done  and  the  daylight 
would  discover  it.  The  woman  who  could  tell 
something  of  the  story  would  tell  it  at  once  if 
liberty  were  given  her.  So  said  those  who  en- 
trapped her  .  .  .  and,  desiring  to  withhold 
liberty  as  long  as  might  be,  they  sent  the  carriage 
westward,  away  toward  Harrow  and  the  villages. 

Evelyn  herself  did  not  suspect  this ;  nor  would 
it  have  alarmed  her  had  she  done  so.  As  one 
awakened  from  a  dream  of  death,  she  tried  to 
shut  the  picture  of  the  house  from  her  heavy 
eyes,  to  drown  the  cries  she  had  heard,  to  forget 
the  humiliations.  Dark  and  lonely  as  the  way 
was,  the  black  shapes  of  the  trees  seemed  em- 
blems of  her  liberty;  the  silent  houses  so  many 
tokens  of  the  world  regained.  She  cared  not 
where  or  why,  so  long  as  she  might  breathe  the 
sweet  air  and  tell  herself  that  God's  mercy  had 
saved  her.  For  Gavin  would  she  live — her  whole 
life  should  be  spent  in  quest  of  the  man  she  loved ; 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         307 

of  one  who  seemed  to  call  her  even  from  the  dark- 
ness. And  of  Gavin  were  her  thoughts  when  the 
carriage  stopped  at  last  and  the  driver  bade  her 
descend. 

She  perceived  him  to  be  an  African,  of  pleasant 
face  and  starlike  eyes.  To  all  her  questions, 
however,  he  did  but  shake  his  head  and  show 
grinning  teeth  which  would  as  well  become  a  snarl 
as  laughter,  she  thought.  It  was  dawn  then,  and 
there  were  gray  mists  drifting  above  the  hedges. 
They  had  stopped  in  a  lane  and  nothing  human 
was  in  sight. 

"  Very  sorry,  missy — go  back  now.  No  far  to 
go,  master  says  so." 

"  Where  are  we,  where  have  you  brought  me?  " 
she  asked,  obeying  him  in  some  fear. 

He  answered  her,  still  grinning: 

"  You  get  back  to  London,  quick,  missee. 
Master  says  so.  Dis  am  his  carriage.  Verry 
sorry,  missy." 

She  perceived  that  he  played  a  part  and  would 
contend  with  him  no  more.  Still  nodding  his 
black  head  and  showing  his  white  teeth,  he  turned 
the  carriage  about  and  disappeared  down  the 
lane.  When  the  rolling  sound  of  the  wheels  had 
quite  died  away,  Evelyn  began  to  walk  along  the 
lane  in  that  which  she  believed  to  be  the  direction 
of  London.  The  mists  lifted  as  the  sun  began  to 
warm  them.  She  was  terribly  cold,  chilled  to  the 
very  bone,  and  exhausted  both  bodily  and  men- 
tally; but  she  pushed  on  bravely  and  presently 
out  of  the  mists  a  cottage  appeared  and  then  an- 
other. Yet  a  hundred  yards  farther  down  the 


308         THE    LADY    EVELYN 

lane  and  she  espied  some  modern  villas  in  the 
Queen  Anne  style  and  after  that  quite  a  consider- 
able village  lying  in  the  hollow. 

It  would  have  been  about  eight  o'clock  of  the 
morning  by  this  time;  and  workmen  passed  her 
with  the  firm  tread  and  the  cheery  "  Good-morn- 
ing, miss,"  which  are  still  to  be  seen  and  heard 
within  ten  miles  of  the  metropolis.  At  first  she 
scarcely  had  the  courage  to  ask  where  she  was ;  for 
she  realized  how  strangely  the  question  must  fall 
upon  other  ears  at  such  a  time  and  under  such 
circumstances ;  but  plucking  up  her  courage  pres- 
ently as  a  lad  approached  her,  she  stopped  him 
and  learned  that  this  was  the  village  of  Pinner, 
and  that  it  lay  just  thirteen  miles  from  London. 

"  Yonder 's  the  station,  miss,  just  round  there 
to  the  right.  I  suppose  you've  walked  over  from 
Harrow.  Lots  of  ladies  do  now  they've  took  to 
hockey.  I  don't  like  that — not  me.  It  hurts  the 
shins  unless  you've  got  thick  'uns  like  the  new 
girls  has. ' ' 

He  was  quite  a  conversationalist,  the  boy,  and 
he  rambled  on  with  a  precise  account  of  his  own 
intimate  affairs,  dating  from  the  happy  anniver- 
sary of  a  present  of  five  shillings  from  a  gentle- 
man in  a  "  broke-in-half  "  motor  car  to  the  re- 
cent arrival  of  a  little  sister,  with  whom  he 
expected  he  would  shortly  quarrel.  One  of  his 
most  cheerful  items  of  information  was  that 
which  revealed  the  near  proximity  of  an  inn, 
styled  by  him  '  *  a  public  ' ' ;  but  which,  neverthe- 
less, brought  to  Evelyn  such  visions  of  hot  steam- 
ing coffee  and  new  warm  bread  and  a  fireside 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         309 

whereby  she  might  thaw  her  frozen  hands  that 
she  bestowed  a  whole  shilling  upon  him  willingly ; 
and  for  that  he,  as  a  true  cavalier,  conducted  her 
immediately  to  the  hostelry. 

"  And  I  do  hope  you'll  walk  over  from  Harrow 
another  morning,  and  that  I'll  meet  you  in  the 
lane,"  he  said  with  an  interested  and  mercenary 
laugh  delightful  to  hear.  It  was  good  after  all 
to  listen  to  the  sound  of  an  honest  voice.  And  this 
boy  spoke  in  the  accustomed  tongue  of  men. 

She  found  the  people  of  the  inn  awake  and 
bustling.  The  story  told  for  her  by  the  loquacious 
lad  was  a  very  open  sesame.  A  dear  old  lady 
with  a  very  dirty  face  ushered  her  into  a  prim 
parlor  and  put  out  the  Sunday  tea  service.  Work- 
men in  the  bar  raised  their  voices  for  her  benefit, 
and  one  of  them  narrated  at  length  how  formerly 
he  had  kept  a  servant  at ' '  twenty  shilling  a  week, 
same  as  you  get,  Bill."  The  coffee,  however, 
could  not  have  been  better.  Evelyn  drank  it 
greedily,  and,  learning  that  there  were  trains  to 
London  frequently,  she  caught  one  at  ten  o'clock 
and  by  a  little  after  half-past  she  was  in  a  han- 
som going  down  to  Baker  Street. 

Her  direction  to  the  cabman  had  been  "the 
Carlton  Theatre  " — why  exactly  she  could  not 
say.  Naturally,  she  felt  shy  for  the  moment  of 
returning  to  her  hotel,  dishevelled  and  weary  as 
she  was.  The  theatre  would  be  open,  she  knew; 
for  a  rehearsal  had  been  called  at  twelve  o'clock, 
and  the  great  Mr.  Izard  expected  her  there  to 
hear  of  a  new  play  which  he  had  already  passed 
as  '  *  bully. ' '  Fortunately  for  her,  she  slipped  by 


310          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

old  Jacob  at  the  stage  door  so  quietly  that  he 
was  quite  unaware  of  her  presence  .  .  .  and 
then  going  to  her  own  dressing-room,  to  her 
chagrin  she  discovered  it  to  be  locked  and  re- 
membered that  her  maid  had  the  key. 

They  had  set  a  scene  upon  the  stage,  the  garden 
scene  of  "  Haddon  Hall  ";  and  weird  and  cold 
and  melancholy  was  its  aspect  in  this  morning 
light.  To  Evelyn  it  seemed  as  an  emblem  of  those 
scenes  of  her  girlhood  which  she  had  forever 
quitted.  The  loneliness  of  her  life,  the  pity  of  it, 
the  quenched  fires  of  ambition — thoughts  of  these 
came  to  her  one  by  one  and  said  "  there  is  no 
longer  hope  in  the  world."  Etta  Eomney,  that 
daughter  of  passion  and  the  soul's  unrest,  love 
had  killed  her,  and  never  would  she  be  reborn. 
Tliere  stood  in  her  place  an  Evelyn  who  believed 
herself  to  be  utterly  alone,  forsaken  of  all,  even 
of  him  who  had  taught  her  the  supreme  lesson 
of  her  being.  For  her  father  she  had  an  abiding 
pity.  The  harvest  he  had  reaped  had  been  of 
his  own  sowing;  but  her  affection  for  him  rose 
above  any  consideration  of  judgment  and  she  ac- 
cused herself  because  she  had  left  him  in  the  hour 
of  trial.  For  the  rest  the  dreadful  story  of  the 
night  remained  her  chief  burden.  To  whom 
should  she  tell  it;  who  must  be  her  confidant? 
Should  she  run  hysterically  to  the  police,  saying, 
"  I  believe  that  a  crime  has  been  committed  in  an 
unknown  house  at  Hampstead?  '  To  whose 
profit?  The  two  men  might  have  met  in  fair  fight 
according  to  the  custom  of  their  country.  And 
would  anyone  be  found  in  the  house  by  even  the 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          311 

cleverest  detective  after  those  hours  had  passed  T 
She  knew  not  which  would  be  the  prudent  course. 
Her  own  despair  spoke  louder  than  any  claim  of 
human  justice. 

The  great  Mr.  Izard  appeared  at  the  theatre 
at  eleven  o'clock.  His  first  cheery  greeting  to  her 
ended  abruptly  when  he  perceived  the  state  of 
distress  into  which  she  kad  fallen  .  .  .  her 
haggard  eyes,  her  white  face,  the  restlessness  of 
mood  and  quick  changing  attitudes  whioh  be- 
trayed her. 

"  Miss  Romney!  "  he  exclaimed  aghast,  "  are 
you  ill,  my  dear?  .  .  .  Good  God!  what  has  hap- 
pened? " 

11  I  cannot  play  to-day,"  she  said.  .  .  .  "I 
am  going  to  my  home,  Mr.  Izard,  to  my  father. 
I  shall  never  play  in  your  theatre  again.  My 
acting  days  are  done." 

He  saw  that  she  was  really  ill  and  would  not 
trouble  her  with  any  cf  the  old  arguments.  His 
own  carriage,  he  said,  should  take  her  to  the 
station.  Her  assurance  that  she  would  go  down 
to  Derbyshire  alone  troubled  him,  for  he  was  a 
big-hearted  man,  as  most  of  his  kind.  When 
Evelyn  left  him,  she  knew  that  she  was  leaving 
a  friend  .  .  .  and  how  few  friends  has  any 
man  or  woman  among  us !  Perhaps  the  truth  of 
this  helped  her  upon  her  long  journey  to  Derby- 
shire. She  was  going  to  her  father,  to  him  who 
had  loved  her  .  .  .  she  was  going  to  him  to 
tell  him  every  word  of  that  story  and  to  say  to- 
him,  "  Take  me  to  Gavin,  let  us  go  together  and 
forget  that  another  has  ever  come  between  us.'* 


312          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

All  else  in  the  world,  its  rewards,  its  prizes,  its 
teachings,  seemed  less  to  her  than  this  gospel  of 
love  now  warming  her  heart  to  life  and  bidding 
her  look  up.  By  it  should  peace  come  to  him — to 
them  both  if  Gavin  lived! 

Ah,  if  Gavin  lived !  How  often  by  the  way  did 
that  voice  of  doubt  cry  the  question  in  her  ears? 
As  a  heavy  cloud  upon  the  garden  of  her  hopes 
so  the  thought  recurred  and  would  not  be  put 
away.  If  Gavin  lived!  Evelyn  heard  the  words 
wherever  she  turned;  they  were  spoken  to  her 
upon  the  breezes  of  that  winter  day,  rolled  out 
by  the  humming  wheels  as  the  train  carried  her 
northward,  uttered  by  unknown  voices  which 
compelled  her  to  listen.  They  followed  her  to 
Moretown;  they  were  with  her  when  she  dis- 
missed the  hired  carriage  at  the  gates  of  Mel- 
bourne Hall  and  set  out  to  walk  across  the  park 
toward  her  home.  Her  desire  to  enter  the  house 
without  observation  or  effusive  welcome  was  in 
great  part  the  fruit  of  her  thoughts.  She  must 
be  alone ;  she  must  have  the  full  command  of  her- 
self before  she  told  her  father  the  true  story  of 
yesternight. 

The  sun  had  set  upon  a  glorious  winter's  day; 
a  day  of  clear  skies  and  bright  scenes  and  fresh 
invigorating  breezes.  Now  when  eve  fell  the 
west  wind  ebbed  away  with  the  hours  and  left 
a  twilight  deeply  still  and  beautiful.  Not  a 
branch  of  the  leafless  trees  stirred  in  all  that 
vast  park  about  Melbourne  Hall.  Wide  vistas  of 
glade  and  avenue  niight  have  known  no  human 
foot  since  their  story  began.  The  deer  browsed 


THE    LADY    EVELYN          313 

or  moved  with  step  so  light  that  the  quickest  ear 
could  not  detect  it.  To  Evelyn  it  mattered  not 
whether  she  trod  the  park  at  dawn  or  dusk. 
Every  landmark  seemed  as  her  own  possession. 
Here  was  the  dell  wherein,  long  ago,  she  had 
played  Di  Vernon's  part  to  the  summer  skies; 
there,  the  arbor  to  which  she  had  carried  the  ro- 
mances upon  which  her  young  imagination 
feasted.  Far  away,  dark  and  gray  between  the 
trees,  stood  her  home,  offering  her  so  chill  a 
welcome  that  her  heart  sank  wearily  and  tears 
came  to  her  burning  eyes.  How  if  her  father  also 
had  left  her;  if  she  found  the  great  house  empty 
and  the  gates  of  it  shut !  Such  an  end  to  her  jour- 
ney was  not  impossible;  but  the  dread  of  it  was 
in  itself  a  heavy  sorrow. 

To  be  alone  even  at  the  gates  of  her  home.  Yes, 
it  might  be  that.  Standing  upon  the  little  bridge 
that  spanned  the  river,  she  listened  to  its  melan- 
choly song  and  echoed  it  in  her  heart.  Alone,  it 
said — the  dream  lived,  love  lost,  the  world 
empty.  What  mattered  it  now  that  God's  prov- 
idence had  saved  her  yesternight?  Better,  she 
thought  in  her  distress,  that  she  lay  in  yonder 
silent  pool,  drifting  upon  the  slow  eddies  to  rest 
and  oblivion.  For  what  had  the  world  to  give 
her?  The  tears  flowed  fast  at  the  remembrance 
of  all  she  had  hoped,  all  she  had  suffered,  all  she 
had  lost.  "  Gavin,"  she  cried  aloud,  "  save  me, 
Gavin,  for  I  cannot  live  alone." 


He  came  to  her  swiftly  out  of  the  darkness. 


314          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

But  yesterday  he  had  returned  from  Bukharest 
and,  just  as  she  to-day,  had  gone  to  Melbourne 
Hall  to  find  it  shuttered  and  empty.  A  good  act 
of  his  destiny  made  it  known  to  him  at  Moretown 
station  that  the  Lady  Evelyn  had  returned  from 
London.  He  followed  her  swiftly  and  overtook 
her  upon  the  bridge. 

And  so  as  in  the  dream  of  the  unforgotten  days 
he  took  her  from  the  shadow  of  the  river  to  his 
heart  and,  holding  her  close,  he  said : 

' '  Evelyn,  beloved,  I  am  here  as  you  wish. ' ' 


Evelyn,  beloved,  I  am  here  as  you  wish."     Chap.  34. 


EPILOGUE 

THE   DOCTOR   DRIffKS   A   TOAST 

In  the  Spring  of  the  year  following  upon  Gavin 
Ord's  return  from  Bukharest,  the  Reverend 
Harry  Fillimore  playing,  as  he  claimed,  "  the 
game  of  his  life  "  upon  the  links  at  Moretown, 
found  himself  to  his  chagrin  both  oblivious  of  the 
troubles  of  others  and  utterly  unsympathetic  to- 
ward his  old  friend  Doctor  Philips. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  he  would  say,  "  what  can 
you  expect  when  you  will  take  your  eye  off  the 
ball?  Now  do  be  patient.  For  my  sake,  be  pa- 
tient." 

The  doctor,  driving  his  ball  with  savage  feroc- 
ity into  a  deep  and  awful  pit,  treated  these  obser- 
vations with  the  just  scorn  they  merited.  He 
neither  criticised  nor  contested  them;  but  having 
struck  the  offending  ball  five  times  with  little  re- 
sult, he  picked  it  up  deliberately  and  uttered  a 
remark  which  the  vulgar  at  any  rate  might  have 
considered  appropriate. 

"  She's  at  Gibraltar,"  he  said  without  preface. 

*  *  Come,  dear  fellow — now  do  be  patient.  I  will 
not  encourage  strong  language;  you  know  that  I 
will  not." 

Dr.  Philips  laughed  such  a  melancholy  laugh 


316          THE    LADY    EVELYN 

that   even   the   good-natured   parson   looked   up 
from  his  beloved  ball. 

"  I  was  talking  of  the  Lady  Evelyn,"  he  said 
quietly. 

11  I'm  sorry — I'd  forgotten  it,  Fred." 

' '  Oh,  well,  memory  isn  't  a  jewel  in  these  cases. 
I  had  a  letter  from  the  Earl  this  morning — eh, 
yes?  He  says  the  yacht's  become  a  nest  of  turtle- 
doves. They're  going  on  to  Malta  if  the  weather's 
not  too  hot.  He  doesn't  mean  to  come  here  at  all 
this  year,  you  see.  That's  what  I  wanted  to  tell 
you.  It  seems  that  the  man  Odin  went  back  to 
Bukharest  and  is  now  fighting  the  Government 
for  his  father's  property.  They  confiscated  it  or 
something,  according  to  the  criminal  law  there. 
Pity  the  gypsies  didn't  kill  him  at  Hampstead— 
eh  ?  They  seem  to  have  come  pretty  near  it  by  all 
accounts." 

The  vicar  expressed  the  opinion  that  the  gyp- 
sies were  the  only  honest  men  that  Bukharest 
would  be  likely  to  send  to  Moretown;  but  neither 
spoke  of  Evelyn  again  until  they  were  alone  with 
their  cigars  after  dinner  that  night.  Then,  as  a 
sacred  confidence  between  them,  Harry  Fillimore 
confessed  something  that  had  long  been  on  his 
mind. 

"  Father  and  daughter,"  he  said,  "  shared  the 
burden  of  a  terrible  heritage.  One  might  have 
said  that  they  had  been  born  under  an  Eastern 
sun  and  had  inherited  Eastern  passions.  In  all 
of  us,  as  the  novelist  Eobert  Louis  Stevenson 
believed,  there  are  two  personalities — the  good 
and  the  evil ;  and  our  lives  are  lived  as  we  conquer 


THE    LADY    EVELYN         317 

the  one  and  foster  the  other.  Robert  Forrester 
never  made  an  honest  effort  to  extirpate  those 
weaker  traits  of  character  which  ruined  his 
career  at  the  beginning.  Evelyn,  on  her  part,  did 
not  realize  the  meaning  of  her  life  until  Gavin 
Ord  taught  her  to  love  him.  Her  escapade  in 
London,  the  craving  for  light  and  music  and  glit- 
ter .  .  .  there  you  had  the  East  speaking  to 
her.  But  the  man's  voice  was  the  voice  of  the 
West,  and  she  listened  to  it.  Such  a  woman  has 
found  peace  or  none  will  ever  find  it.  Her  will 
has  saved  both  herself  and  her  father.  Let  us 
grudge  her  nothing  of  her  happiness,  Fred.  You 
loved  her?  What  man  that  had  not  loved  would 
not?  But  you'll  wish  a  blessing  on  her  and  lift 
a  glass  to  her  as  I  do,  just  because  you're  what 
you  are — a  great  big-hearted  Englishman,  who 
will  share  his  joys  with  all,  but  will  tell  his  sor- 
rows to  none." 

The  doctor  turned  his  head  away.  Very  slowly 
and  deliberately  he  filled  his  glass,  and,  lifting  it, 
he  said: 

11  God  bless  her!  " 

THE   END 


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